The headlines read that a pair of wings was found near a homeless shelter. They were quickly spotted and yet never touched. They are shimmering aquamarine, as I imagine them. Right now, they flutter and stop. Their existence will naturally shock the Californian gold prospectors who will hop on the next train to posess the wings but, of course, wings usually have an owner who will collect them by the time the clock strikes 12, and like Cinderella (who managed to keep both of her shoes on), they will be gone forever. All that remains are a few faded lines in an old issue of The Post.


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