Riding in a compartment through pollination-active under sun, long grasses and poppy heads, copses, a leaden sky like an eye that has ceased to focus. Writing in this compartment, a gem that is human; and crafted, human, meet conversation summarise the themes, which I am happy to have identified, and propel the plot to a forseen conclusion, for it is an end-game excercise that my words are garnering their fellow syllables to progressively involve.
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