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But in reality you’re working in a tiny cubicle. Having tiny breaks, tiny wage, tiny personal time. You’re jailed.
No.
But can there be others to drink soup with?
Swap the mushroom house for a cabin or earth house and I’m there.
Is it also mushroom soup?
Is the house made of soup?
Or is the pot filled with house?
She screams, for she does not know.
The soup is the house special.
I am already isolated, alone, eating scraps, and “free”. But maybe if I had a mushroom house.
