/lit/ - Literature

>an oaf in the deli was for a moment lost to them, askance the advanced now serving number, how did she do it?
>How long was the incapacitation? Did I retain any glowing?
>there were mangled busboys, toppled tea carts, dim sum collisions sparked by the buffed glint of her french tips, porters careened, snagged luggage trains strung on chandeliers, and yet worse volatilities ensued wherever her toes opened to the world, Pandoran wriggles, chaos her chimes strummed by every floppy, shuffly step, never ever inert, rarely paused, Mira's ballet rests before baristas, budtenders, cycling into graceful slouches during finer points Ethiopian, Tikun, where she'd flitter, flirt, fly by priestess eyes firstly felt in the cold electrics arching her tiptoes, invisibly, a show for none, but an art long finessed into a sublime tool, Mira was always careful as she was never immune from her own marvels, and so when autotuning her enchantments, cudgeling her senses by them, posing fanned knives, arrayed sabers, organ pipes, cutlery tines, porcelain delicates stacked, slanted, summering to ferraceous humus, there was always the danger she'd simply lose herself in tongued solestry, but she survived the enchantment perils and Mira could now do more than wink at you from beneath the Velcro of her Tevas, no, she could orate, enact tragicomies of arresting sincerity, spellbind or liberate, why, she had already moved rooms by her quantum pedals, stood stadia, passworded catacombs, there's long been lores where a wilder miragonz poofed into slathering dudes a ploom of purest scopolamine fresh tapped just beneath her ramping aristocratic launches, and generously, she apocalypsed their delicate minds, greeting the supple himbo-zombies by the circular flexion stretching glittery her merino lace, a trick she discovered and mistressed long before Mira legally drove, being a "late bloomer" at twenty four.