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Spencer Williams IV Jessica Lamb Maybe near a year ago they saw her walking talking and smiling

I even saw her So I ask: “Who is Jessica Lamb?” Jessica Lamb lives somewhere in the Falkland Islands. Everyday, she takes a private jet (that she owns) to somewhere in Colorado. The pilot painstakingly, with precision so perfect that she finds herself applauding, lands the aircraft, the Harrier, in a small parking lot. Ten miles outside the school, she phones a limo (they hear the name Jess, they run) that immediately arrives for her service. Behind the driver she sits with blue jeans, sunglasses are (somewhere). She tells him where to go. What routes to take. “Use your head.” With stacks of food and plates to eat on, a large array of wine glasses, a television, somewhere farther back is a sound system with an LED display flashing billions of lights and colors, all for the entertainment of Jessica Lamb lives in Broomfield. People change all the time The people who sat here everyday Spoke with words of fear and enlightenment. Yes, they know her I believe she just passed by again. Deep red, deep purple, deep brown hair I’m thinking of a song. Passing periods and Wednesday mornings. I must not be there yet. Where is Jessica Lamb? Define: “I’m Jess.”

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You’re silent now. I can’t see or hear you. Waiting outside a department store. Living off sugar. Food from vending machines. FIND US!!! Not for a while Wait. Wait and she’ll come. You’re losing faith. “I’m leaving.” No, no. Don’t leave. Hours pass. Purple. One of the most unsafe vehicles sold to auto consumers. CERI! CERI! Jess. “Jessica Lamb.” Who is this… Sandy? “Keep Your Neighborhood Clean” ? Into the night. Like a mountain filled with street lights and chain stores All so different and unique yet so similar. Yes, of course I know you, Sandy, with me still. She speaks

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Jess talks about, to, and with. She speaks. What kind of people are around Jessica Lamb? What are they to her? What are they all about? From random conversations while bagging groceries to a total reunion of one now known, she who walks hall-less. She talks, we listen. Yes. You are indeed Jessica Lamb. Inside a restaurant. Microphone in hand. Speaker sitting proudly on the table. Using a radio. A Mexican radio. Sound waves of Where is Jessica Lamb? What is it to know Jessica Lamb? Tell me, who are you to stand here in front of me, casually whatever the weather, standing, sitting, driving to Chipotle, money in your pocket, black Zildgian hat, black jacket with patches and spikes, flannel jacket around the waist, Misfits shirt, to say: Jess. Jess who? Who are you? Who is Jessica Lamb? Where is one to be Jessica Lamb, out of high school, into hell? Keys in the ignition. One to be spoken of through and around many. “Yeah, Jessica Lamb.” Where am I now? Where are you?

4 Yes, Jessica Lamb is real. I saw her driving a dark-colored Canyonero. I ate with her even. She walked around months before. I saw her sit down right there. Right where I’m pointing. At that table. Inside of Pearl Street, we all walked. Everyone I know I know you were there. She came again in a red car. Izzy. Back me up here, Izzy: Yes. Jessica Lamb.

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