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April 16, 2007
I'd rather sit cross-legged on a park bench on a sunny, warm-breezed day, nibbling on crumbs from the bottom of my purse, meeting dog after dog and the people accompanying them, tracking squirrels' spirally paths, smiling at puffed-chested pigeons, than do almost anything else. I'd bring a book, sure, thinking I'd want to lose myself in it, but that venture is never successful.

How can I possibly focus on static black letters on a white page, when inches away, the enterprising industry of ants (themselves the size and color of the type), carrying away missed crumbs, is mine to witness?