He recalled seeing the Se- Di- Te-, or self digesting text, drifting vertical out of eye corner on dry parchment. The thing was alternatingly spotted held aloft in antiquated newsprint, or stacked in back-snapping volumes in seeping steel boxes. It was concieved in charcoal under dim light and absent mindedness, the surface Grease-like, forebodingly slippery.
I used to curse myself for my own fortunes resempleing the Sedite. I once found myself the profiled unfortunate in the rush hour Walgreens, suddenly gripping desperately to the wares and going down. At once the LP hit me deep into the bowels of the store's insurance policy. Another came and I was out of it completely. By the third the linoleum is a freezing lake, and the flourecents are all out with little pops. I was diving in and refreshed, just past dusk. Denim tried to sink me but I surfaced...
...Little waves lap at the sides of where I Sit. It is a small dock, in a volcanic lake, carrying two life preservers and a chemical toilet. I can faintly make out jagged edges, still warm from the past days' light.