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June 13, 2001
Sometimes the thoughts are strange:

Like that intersection, on the way home, a left turn I make that's completely blind. As I drive, I picture the day that a car doesn't slow down and instead plows into the driver's side of my own. I see the vision so clearly--the twisted metal, the broken glass, the police arriving--but always in complete silence.

Or that I'm in a movie, black and white, years in the future; a ghost dancing in strangers' living rooms. But I keep forgetting my lines, so I mouth the words while looking for cue cards.