I walked my sins around the block and ran into Pinocchio, and we had ourselves a little chat about all the things Geppetto fucked up.  He said he wanted to be a real boy, and his nose grew a little, and I wished I could be wood, but if I were, my nose would’ve grown a little too.  Seems like everyone would be fine if ole’ Jiminy Cricket would just give a little whistle one last time before our conscience came calling on us.  Good God, if only it’d called a little earlier.  If only we’d listened when it did.  This is no street corner block, Pinocchio; it’s the bottom of the belly of that ugly beast, and not even Jonah could sneeze his way out of this one.  If you get one more wish upon a star or bump into that beautiful blue fairy, wish a wish for me too, boy.  We both know what we want.  Until then, be glad Geppetto didn’t make you out of clay.  You’d be crumbling in this water if he had.

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