The grey wiry smoke, spindled and writhed, creeping through the darkness, from the small glow of the sputtering bulb, that was failing to light up the room.
And at the tip of the smoke, was a small wormy face, looking slowly, and darting back and forth.
And out of its side came slender feminine ethereal arms, with dainty hands, coming around the front of its head in an O.
Like it was dancing in water, and moving elements in the room.
Then someone opened the door, letting in the light and wind, and in a puff, the smoke exploded, into tiny whispers, as the voices of men entered the room, discussing important things.
Things of business, things of worldly affairs, and they all had watches.
And they all had opinions.
And they all had a vote.
And they all had it wrong.
Those men with their watches.
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