There’s a hole down that road

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I don’t see the hole. I fall in the hole. It’s very deep, and at the bottom, where I lay broken, it’s cold and dark. I can’t get out.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole as I am walking down the road. I fall in the hole. It’s familiar and strangely cosy. I can’t get out.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole as I am walking down the road. I fall in the hole. I don’t like the hole anymore. I want to get out.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole as I am walking down the road. I dread falling in the hole. I fall in the hole. But I look up and decide to get out.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole as I walk down the road. I say to myself, “I will not fall in the hole again.” I fall in the hole again. I start climbing out.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole as I walk down the road. I try not to fall down the hole. But I fall in the hole again. I get back out straight away.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole as I walk down the road. My foot catches the edge and I fall in the hole. But I don’t hit the bottom. I cling to the edge and climb out of the hole.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole and step over it. I don’t fall in the hole this time.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. I see the hole and step over it. But I trip. I fall in the hole. I climb out faster than before.

I walk down the road. There’s a hole down that road. But I’m not on that road. I’ve walked down a different road.

With credit to Lorna MacDonald, via James MacDonald, with some poetic license.

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