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Fred Nastvogel

Hand me downs: I got them from my lanky cousin. I was fire pluggish. The dress up suit was a last year pattern and last year color. Three buttons, not two. The shirt billowed and I held up the sleeves with rubber bands. The trousers bunched, not broke, at the shoes. Yet. I starched and ironed the shirt, no scorches. The cinching up of the trousers was not detectible with the coat buttoned. I chose a clip on tie to match, and stuck it with a dime store pin, glass piece in the middle that looked enough like a diamond. My neoprene soled shoes were buffed to a luster. When I got dressed up I was




There is something of this in most of what I make. Disparate sources. Unlikely matches. Synthesis by fit and finish. Life as happenstance.

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