Just a beautiful, melancholy poem by Jennifer Polson Peterson. The move from being a girl called in by her mother as the light wanes to being the mother calling in the girl is so deft (as shadows become the objects that fill the room).

poems.com/poem/golden-hour/

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[slipping the Staples guy a crisp 1 dollar bill] Give me some of the good paper, you know, from tall trees that have given shade to lovers

Resting bitch face? Sir, this face never rests.

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"Truth is," I say, pausing to drag off a cigarette and exhale smoke puffs, "I like making tiny clouds with my mouth."

The Lead Pipe Was Admitted Into Evidence, Charlie Brown

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A version of Spotify Wrapped where a bunch of mannequins claw a tunnel into your home and act out your top favorite scenes from books you read that year.

If you think about it, fire is nature's most exacting editor.

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Once again, my haters have trapped me in a large burlap sack

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[closes book, slowly removes glasses, and thoughtfully cleans them with a small cloth] I honestly don't think Waldo is in there

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sure, everybody hates snake oil — until their snake starts squeaking

[slipping the Staples guy a crisp 1 dollar bill] Give me some of the good paper, you know, from tall trees that have given shade to lovers

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there's an old well in my backyard that whispers to me to do terrible things, but I don't listen to it (I've started listening to it)

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I just want a scene in the Barbie movie where they're living in the RV and using the dream house as an airbnb because property taxes were killing them and ken's onlyfans tanked

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IDEA: A seven layer dip where one of the layers is a vaccine.

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I like it in classical music when they're finishing up a passage and then SURPRISE BITCH they go back and reprise the passage for those of you who were not paying attention the first time

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Call me old-fashioned but jungle gyms are for reenacting scenes from Die Hard.

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me: sorry we’re late

st peter: what happened

grim reaper: *holding cotton candy and a giant teddy bear* traffic

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[psychologists collide on staircase]
Freud: *slips*
Jung: *unconscious*

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Dorothy stares at the munchkins.

They stare back at her.

“I guess I just thought maybe there’d be a song or something?” she says.

One of them takes a long drag off a cigarette, then flicks it to the yellow brick and crushes it underfoot. “Take it up with the guild, lady.”

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