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February 12, 2008
Oren and I looked up at the stars through her windshield, perched below the stoplight at N Territorial. This is N Territorial, I proclaimed awkwardly, considering there was a sign. The image of my friend Joe cupping his hands over his belly while his friend with benefits lyed in the grass, writing, came to mind, however, the more recent memory of Joe struggling with diabetic neuropathy and still living in David's dark basement superceded it so I let the memory slip between my fingers like the smoke Oren and I used to vent from her car, cruising invincibly through collegetown.