As I marched…

As I marched into the kitchen with a flamboyant step, a cigarette held high in hand, and the glow of the pinnacle ash, a replacement for a beacon illuminating a quietness trailing through the dark air, I sensed a cooling of sweet thunder, a pale congregation quickly lapsed into nervous rapture. A place where one may glide upon the icy sheets of innocent malfunction, onto a sweaty platform, which springs a guest into the virgin air and whose peers gaze excitedly at the spectacle.

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