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May 4, 2004
Spring night, thunder tearing through the cool dark-dampness with the sodden rending of the air; the clouds are ripped through to a sudden bleeding quick, raw tear of light and a brief scream of pain. Then the reverberations, the low growling air rolling down the streets and avenues and scratching at windows and then rolling back again, again. Silence follows in the heat-beats of the rumbling wake, but slowly the wash / hush / shhh / wash of the soft rain returns, seeping into the aching spaces left by the thunder, puddleing to reflect neon night, washing clean the wound.