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Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
The last ten seats at the counter, furthest from the front door, are known to the staff and regulars as “Hawaii.”
That night, owing almost entirely to it being the 1111th consecutive day of being ambushed by dozens of tiny, toothy problems the minute she walked in the front door, her thoughts turned to her locked door, her birthday, and her waning tolerance, causing her to wonder: Is it easy to recognize a midlife crisis as it’s happening, or is one only able to identify it long after the fact?
You’d think that little boys would tire of arguing about locks on bedroom doors, but if you did, you’d of course be wrong.
Becky slammed the doors wide open and strode outside to stand under the sunlight, fiercely wielding handfuls of rainbows as she searched the streets for the gravy of sadness.
Doors, no matter how sensibly shut, and no matter how pragmatic the locks, are sure barriers against the quiet dread that slips through keyholes bringing the inky night with it.
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