What am I? A crushed hominid. A can of couscous, seeding. A shudder of my former self, a self-defrosting fridge. Good with dogs, at looking after dogs, at looking dog-like. Mosquito slapper, hopeless unwrapper of shrink-wrapped cheese.
What am I here for? To look after my fading father, to bury and speak when the time comes for scatter and ash. To be a glorious father, hah. To bother and fret li ...
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