Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Two
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Frost machine.
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The slow drip of morning light.
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His legs are covered in goosebumps.
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I take the long way back home.
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Uninspired.
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Gratitude for a lunch made from leftovers.
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I made it to the game.
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“An out-of-control control burn,” she says. “On Howell Mountain Road,” she says.
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I take my meal home. But first, I shower.
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I tell him that I am really peopled out. I just needed to wash away the day.