August 5th, 2002 - 12:16 p.m.

A welcomed intrusion.

The dull wooden, yet metallic scratch of the cicadas. Heard but not seen. Sounds carried in by the summer breezes.

A most blissful stage of suspended animation. The days meld and blend into each other. Delicately out of focus, but clearly defined in all its splendor.

Do not exist. Cannot make me.

N.

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