Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Four
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Just a little longer.
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So much noise.
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Lost in translation.
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Old vine Chenin Blanc, blue hair, vineyards in Pope Valley, realizing that this writing thing is something I get to do.
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The sweetest little home. I know these mugs are from the shop in town. The conversation is easy. I am grateful.
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Laundry and true crime.
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Hungry but not.
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When will I ever get a chance to read the paper?
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I take the call outside in the sun. “75 and sunny,” I say. They always comment on my weather as if they are jealous. But this why we moved to California: I like this version of winter so much better.
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Over-socialized.