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Roe, roe, roe is me

Dear World, I’m sorry I’ve taken from you the possibility of an independent State of Lobster. If all the eggs I came to possess had been fertilised and grown up to be big, strong, purposeful lobsters, there would have been no hope for any of us. This would have been a lobster-ruled planet and orange would be good again. Mea culpa. But also, mea lobster. Regards, etc.     Subhead: But First, Mayaro Buy a duck in Valencia. The duck is not going to share any secrets about life or lobster but, as I am quickly learning, this is the road-trip rule: buy things. I don’t want an inflatable turtle or a giant pumpkin or piggly ears today. It will have to be the duck. In truth, it starts with, “Let’s go to Mayaro for chip-chip.” That sounds like fun. I don’t need chip-chip but I would like to do something with my Saturday that does not involve laundry. I’m in. And not much is asked of me. All I have to do is be on the look out for the very specific markers that will tell us where the chip-chip seller will be. “It’s a sign that says ‘Chip-chip’.

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