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July 27, 2003
Driving west, headed home in the early evening, I listened to Echoes as the fresh air rolled in off the south shore. The sky was a disappointment, grey and overcast, but the scenery was interestingly unfamiliar, as I have rarely traveled this stretch of Montauk Highway. Another day without succumbing to the blackness, the bleakness that has begun dodging my heels; I should be pleased. Instead, I recognize a certain grim determination settling in about me as I prepare for another week, rather like a medieval soldier donning armor before battle. Why do I then think of jousting with windmills?