The house (in slumps and sizzles)
welcomes
rain hitting the grease along its eaves.
Engine 19 exhales a cargo of smoke junkies as the compromise causes collapse.
Captain pinches at a speck of tobacco from his tongue and flicks it toward the flames...
the remnant of a lucky strike dislodged by a curious tongue from between one yellow tooth and one gold,
Hopes of fighting gone out like a radio signal reverberating until caught on too steep an incline.
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