Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Ninety-Three
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Oh, shoot.
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First fire of the season. The sound and the smell of it.
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He is awfully agreeable this morning and that makes it all pretty easy.
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Last game.
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I keep moving toward the sun to stay warm but the sun is setting and there is no way to escape the chill.
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Turns out, if you call him and he answers he will usually do what you say. They get bold when the communication is via text.
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She stops to take a picture of the moon as we make our way back toward the car. The sky is pink and tan and powder blue and soft. Hazy from a prescribed burn on the other side of the mountains.
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Hot chili. Forgot the sugar in the cornbread.
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But really, who has a birthday party that goes this late into the night?
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Turning off the alarms.