Ten.One Thousand, Four Hundred & Seventy-Six
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Up late again. Maybe I could get used to this? Maybe, I shouldn’t.
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I tell him about the bad dream that woke me up. “It was going downhill real fast and I needed to get out of it.”
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Leftover cobbler and coffee. I use restraint and forego the ice cream.
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Hammock plus coffee plus journal.
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The helicopters are back.
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An opportunity for the right person. I am not the right person.
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Forgot the tortillas.
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A four-bottle night, she says.
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”Don’t start any lives, don’t take any lives.”
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I’m sad. Usually I am the one doing the leaving.