Beneath A Domed Sky podcast

Olivia’s Lips

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I take my time, light the cigar and blow creamy rings above me. Mild mannered The Grant, Marketing God, Media Darling...human. Naked and scarred like all men of power. The night creeps behind its veil, the dome shifting from crimson and gold to bruised greens and violets. The cigar and finish and I must cleanse.

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