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March 18, 2018
Where was this street yesterday when we walked, guided by the hair fine strands of the morning sun through avenues made by falling leaves, and rolling rubbish, and the never ending breeze carrying the smells of of the suburbs waking up (bad breath, shit, sweat, semen, cats piss, rotting, perfume, blossoms) and the sounds of sheets, and the last whispers of dreams creeping out open windows?

Where did we stretch our arms from the nights stiffness, where there was enough space and our elbows didn't scrape the coarse face of red bricked walls, and tarmac roads?

Where were we then?