My name is Leslie, and I am the most lonely and absolute shadow of my spirit. When I was a child I saw my circle of redwoods get killed by some thing unrequited. Then an accident inside a travel bag made me doubtful. To the unrecorded world I’m an ordinary compass rose. But aimlessly I wave my clove cigarettes to fight saint candles and find other twisted bedknobs like myself. I am the suspension system for the clear, hardly fizzed liquid of my spit.