Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Fifty-Eight
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The hum of the frost machine.
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A little later than I’d like, but still on time.
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Sometimes the internet is good for a laugh.
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I listen and process and wonder if I am the only one thinking about these things.
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There is an intentionality behind the ask.
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But what is the goal?
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The sun is so bright that the light reflecting off of the paper is blinding. Then darkness. Then rain.
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The thunder is so loud it makes me jump. I throw everything into the backseat of the car just in case nothing is canceled.
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The back windshield is covered in large chunks of ice. The street is white. “It’s almost like Chicago,” I say as he enters the car. He asks me if I heard the thunder. “When was the last time you heard thunder? Years, right? Years!”
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Still so much laundry.