Ten.One Thousand & Eighty-Seven
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Water.
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I should probably listen again.
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Cool breeze, a lump of snails in the grass, wondering how I can make my way across the yard to water the vegetables without smashing my friends.
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No one covered the lemon bars, and now they are dried out. I nibble on a piece of the cookie crust anyway.
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Forty years of experience in Black excellence.
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Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem.
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We talk about the gift of being in spaces that reflect your own experiences, how you feel more like yourself.
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Sweat.
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He’s probably paced his way to 10,000 steps.
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Always so good to see her face. The conversation is too short, but there is still next week.
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He keeps asking me what I want. I think I’m getting closer to the answer.