Mopping Spacetime. 

I’m selling cases that stop space time from warping your data. Essential for a quantum computing device. A guy cannot decide. I tell his wife that he needs it. 
I leave work and walk home. I want to be making beats. I tap drumsticks on my legs as I walk. I cut through a housing estate, a guy sits at his window. I’m glad I didn’t go for food with the people from work. I couldn’t afford it. 
I reach the entrance to Dartmoor national park. It’s very muddy, and I slip and slide along, using my giant drumsticks like crutches. I pass the guard at the gate, and try to clean my muddy trainers in a puddle. They get dirty again straight away. My drumsticks become mops, and I mop myself along the wet, muddy, path. I pass two old gentlemen. One has seen my behaviour before, from a young girl first, then a group of private schoolboys, moving themselves along, locomotion, by mopping out the serial nature of reality as it appears ahead of them. 


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