Two desks, one river town

A teacher moves hands. The chute stamps lie.

If the sole is flying a toe, a new thought about wrists will not land the heel. If the stroke is a shove, a new angle will not invent a square face.

We send people to teachers when the paint changes every third roll. That is hands, not lie. We keep people at the chute when the paint is ugly and repeatable. That is a sole arguing with grain.

Hattie will say so before she bills a bend. It is cheaper than collecting posters.