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February 20, 2011

Home from the walk, I'm turning off lights.  I can feel the switch burning the ball of my thumb, the switch plate on the backs of my fingers.  I can hear the washing machine and I can see a flash of someone playing basketball under a street lamp down the road.  It's the bother of the evening.  This is taking me places where even now in my boldness I cannot go.  I'm already a cripple here because of a paragraph I left out three sheets ago.

 

Three men sit around a table in a sub street apartment in Ann Arbor.