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PROLOGUE: India Ink

I imagine, in all our lives, there comes a moment when we realize we are teetering canon_firing250precariously. Those wobbly moments of greatest fear, shock or sorrow are the ones that stick in our hearts leaving an indelible stain much like an upturned bottle of India ink seeping into the carpet or soaking into the deepest grain of the wood floor. I reckon it’s the same with that flickering gaslight between life and death where everything sharpens, clear-like, and only the important things – the beautiful pearls – remain in your head. Only the thrum of your beating heart assures you there is yet one foot staid in this sad world. . .

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