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March 4, 2012
I don't ever recall writing 100 words when the day was quite so young. Yes, it's only quarter past midnight and here I sit tippy tapping into my trusty MacBook Pro and thinking about what today will hold. I can't predict the future, but if I am fortunate enough to awaken from my slumber a few hours from now, I know we'll be going to the ghetto farmer's market. But that's all I know about Sunday, March 4. It's a Sunday and that's all that matters because it's a day of leisure. We don't go to any house of worship.