Wary not to slip into the dark, rank mire, I searched the quarry for vestiges of life.

 

 

I was now beginning to know the writer, or at least where he was likely to leave me a message. Near the top of one of the quarry walls, tightly rolled into a tiny scroll, I found another note carefully placed into a hole left behind by a smoking drill. With little care for its conservation, and the excitement one feels at receiving a long-awaited love letter, I spread the scroll out on the rock at my feet, wiped away the spider eggs and mold, and devoured every word.

 

 

all the stone they pulled out of here – even for your house up yonder
workin for you and praisin your name all the time
now youve taken em all
why?
what can they possibly do for you up there that they couldnt do down here?
aint you alredy got a house?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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