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August 4, 2003

My final evening in Atlanta. The nighttime view from my hotel window is spectacular – straight ahead my sights focus on the building at One Atlantic Center, its towering spire alight with gold, tapering upwards to a beatific white steeple rising towards its apex, acknowledging its presence with a cautioning, eternal wink. Still it has been a bit unsettling here on the 44th floor. A helicopter flew past at nearly eye level, and close enough to the building to make me feel squeamish. A fierce thunderstorm rattled my windows, and the fire alarm went off, subsequently ratified, thank you, as false.