Ten.Five Hundred & Forty-Eight
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The alarm. That sleep felt really short.
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I search for the book of poetry in the dark and grab the big jar of water. Why hasn’t the first email sent? That’s weird. I’ll just manually send it now.
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The computer says 2:54 AM. That can’t be right. The microwave says it too. Damn phone. How did I not realize that it was 3 hours ahead?! Well, ok. No wonder sleep felt so short.
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Coffee. Pound cake. Still the smell of burnt cheese.
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Duncan Sheik, “Barely Breathing.”
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More photography videos. A lunch of marcona almonds, salami, white cheddar, a ripe bosc pear, a small glass of Pinot Noir.
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Turns out you can also read puddles.
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He asks me if I made the sauce or the sauce. I didn’t. We all can tell.
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The three of us cuddled up on a twin-size bed watching Alfred Hitchcock.
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A good first day. There’s something about writing in community that I have missed.