To start a relationship with an if statement molds a wanton ticking:

expanse of the coils, the splutter of volts. I hear this now. It is an old house, built by someone and burrowed under by crickets. There is insulation beneath the floorboards else I could hear their cockroach legs. Instead, I hear a crescendo in ticking: each tick has half the space to bounce, doubling the quantity of sound but halving the noise.

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NAT GEOGLYPH

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