Lucy Parsons
Sorry for logic. The lyncherman lynches everyone equally. But at least some of the time, he has to be thinking, I am just like them. The skin on the arm would start spotting. Instead of nicknames there would be noms-de-plume and euphemisms. That tickled. You could map a grid onto it. XYZ means you examine your zipper. People are more or less distances. The X you are walking towards. What difference would it make if you told everyone a date and time. All the heavens would be no different. In one you can see just as far up the women’s trousers. A plenitude of gaseous entities. You try to look away from these accidents, politely, but it slows you down.