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In the circus of trickery the plates jump, fearful of falling and shattering into a thousand jagged china pieces capable of drawing a crimson bead to drip and splatter into decorative patterns. Fighting to maintain balance on the end of a stick they obediently spin, while their flowery borders change face, melding into a dark solid line. They hum softly as they gracefully dance, turning in ceaseless predictable circles. Slowing without an occasional touch, they begin to wobble, dangerously out of control, clinging with every sense to the prop beneath. Once more contact is made, poise is regained, the spectacle continues.
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