The Archeologist
The Archeologist 

She sits alone, puts the sounds of the words she’s writing into her mouth, with a little smoke, and absentmindedly lets them all spill quietly out, again.
She’s a depression in the system where the sick repetition of gossip passes between the paragons of gossip beneath sorry decadent impressionisms that vibrate to the pretentious jangle of jazz rattling through a quadraphonic explosion of speakers.
—A drink, Miss Jane?
—Most certainly. No original thought ever made itself manifest without a tincture of the old green stuff. For one to think originally, one must always drink excessively.
'The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.'

—Albert Camus

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