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October 20, 2003
I always capitalize my onomatopoeia, he tells me solemnly. I can only respond with silence, because I know it's true.

I'm painting the house, canary yellow. There is a cornucopia next to the front steps. It is filled with fruit. Larger than life. I've been here before. Later, there is a party inside, but I don't recognize the inside. I walk into dark rooms and switch on the lights. Everyone is there. I walk through parallel hallways. They are bare, but there is an empty card table in each one. Rickety, they stand crooked. Take a load off, I whisper.