Philip of Trier
By Philip Kaveny (Copyright 2015)
As Philip gazed out at the audience from his precarious perch on the wobbly three-legged stool his world vibrated and then froze as he looked back in at himself from the outside as if he were a spectator in the audience of his own life. Philip thought to my life is merde. Then his world lost its center and he was not certain where he was. Just as quickly his world snapped brilliantly back into focus and his ears popped, and it felt as if someone had rammed a fistful of mothballs up his nose Philip’s eyes teared so badly he could barely see his “patrons” faces in the guildhall tavern.
But then his head cleared and he thought, fuck them I can’t stand their filthy hands and faces. Finally, Philip, like, Lucifer, fathomed, the depths he had fallen into. Then…
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