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February 21, 2002
'You shouldn't think about death so much.' She said. I looked pointedly out the window at the stark trees and the cold bare ground. 'But look, look, look! The trees are getting buds. In a month's time, these buds will bloom.'

I push a newspaper across the table at her, the headlines screaming of a fatal fire.

'Media! Of course they're going to push death, it's what sells!' She sputters. I take her emaciated hand in mine. 'Yeah. I'm as good as dead, but I value what little I have left.'

Listen to the dying, they'll teach you a lot.