Abstract
Tuesday Night at the Hollywood Casino Tall bridges & overpasses to intersections. On one, a frail traffic cop bites a doughnut. I'm scared I've left the oven on, and I'll burp at Babbo Ganzo's. Planets ferment under the sun to form a mold, a life that grows into a sea monkey farm, the stench like a burning lock of hair. A star fears sitting still until it implodes. And the brown haired beauty leans into the cowboy, letting me smell her quick luck, "Black Jack is my game." I tremble a little, wishing I could pick her up, but my game isn't lucky, down twenty bucks at the Hollywood Casino. Nick Levis 52 ...
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