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There is an underwater cave where I go to eat truffles and reflect on the pestilence of the day. There, with heavy walruses hanging by their own tusks, I compose short dialogues involving shiny nuances. Often, in the midst of the humdrum hubbub, a tiny creature will emerge from the eye socket of one of the guests, bearing gifts and drooling narcotically. A jubilant romp will then ensue, whereupon each guest will be asked to talk all at once about types of flightless seabass and water fresheners. The sound combination of sound and combinations is what ends up devouring my blanket of blank IT.
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