We thought about covering our city in ghosts, or maybe tapestries. One of us even tried to sell us on the idea of birds, but nobody was really listening. Then sunflowers were trending for a while. Then alphabets. Then letters. Then time itself and anchovies. But somehow or other time moved on and counted down seven weeks of everyone talking over each other right up to the great election. And people gathered from all four corners of the world that happened to be within the census district of the city, around the wishing well of accidental charity and dreams at the very center of the city’s voting district, right next to a bakery and across from a barbershop. Each individual proudly wore their self identity and semi personal agenda on their t-shirts and origami pocket scarfs. The day started with lanterns turning into butterflies. It ended with each ballot practicing ballet and being stamped in postage history stamp books and tossed into the well. And anyone who’s anyone already knows how the vote turned out, but what you might not know is that some butterflies are made of ceiling wax. It might seem unrelated, but on my way back from the election I may or may not have overheard an argument about how everything is related to somebody, and I know some people, so maybe, just maybe, you actually came here just to hear that some butterflies are made of ceiling wax. If so, you’re welcome, and now you know.  Some butterflies are made of ceiling wax. 

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