than I can bother to count. To a
passerby's ears, we communicate
in fluent Klingon, spoken with a
heavy Maritess accent. Yoh noh
na. Dat ting, tu fas, lah. Gitopmi.
This may be the closest I've ever
been to someone—and it's probably
because I am sitting next to you.
They say we have our own world. If we
really did, then it would be filled with
secondhand paperbacks and tolkons,
and the only discomfort one would
feel is a laughter-induced headache.
-Nocturnal Scribe
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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2012
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