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May 17, 2005

100Mornings-49

It's time to take another pastel from the box, that dark space where they lay sleeping in their slots. We drive the twenty miles across each one in a tractor slung between four bulbous tires, kicking up trails of pastel dust, dropping down the wall of each pastel berth, and climbing back out again. The cavernous ceiling is luminous here and far away in one corner, you can make out the web. Even from this distance, it is gargantuan. The spider is not there today. It makes the hair on your neck tingle to thing where she might be.