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April 24, 2014

These plums are collected and arrayed on the cutting board and, with knife clasped between thumb and forefinger, their flesh peeled back, which falls away, ranging in color from red-gold through pale green. Freshly skinned, they are counted out, one, two, three and onwards, before falling from fingers gone limp into the sterilized, glass grave foreseen for this purpose. Rites are performed, syrup poured, lid sealed. In the months to come, delighted eyes will follow through transparent walls the floating personnages of this unseemly golden world.

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