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October 31, 2014
Rainy, cozy Saturday. Little lamps lit around the room rather than the overhead four-bulb "sun". Incense burning. Percolator chortling as it dutifully makes coffee. Shana curled into herself, pressed against the porcelain chill of the tub and the snug warmth of a heating pipe. A library book lounging on the red Parsons table, inviting me to take refuge in its pages. My typewriter winking at me across the room, trying to seduce me into writing a letter. And I have work to do, which doesn't bother me at all, because it pays for me to live here, among my lovelies.