The God, Punctuation
Everywhere I go, apostrophes are out of place; their black compass is not invented, they have no handy Melway’s nor a ledger of rigid rules. Rather than drown in milkwhite space they go numbly looking for a space to snuggle down and feel comfy as a puppy. Just over here preen shop-window products that call for emphatic pointing and there is a blatant s hoping in two directions at once. They are all heading off to the singles’ club while we toodle forward, warm at having apostrophised something with a family gesture.
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