— Condemnations —

Dusk.  One of those times.  You know the kind.  A summer evening.  Kids playing ball.  The sun setting.  Stars arriving in the black limousine of night.  The kind of night you dreamed of when you were young.  Now that you’re old, you know that’s just what it was. A dream.  Morning comes, and so does that kind with a u in it. You in it.  Mourning.

Some people write like this.

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