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March 9, 2015
Not feeling the urge to write. It was a typical work day, nothing bad happened. The weather was warmer. All things carefully kept inside were coming out. The air carried the smell of minerals, the sun shone longer. I'd just introduced myself to Max, the young owner of the Brazilian Jujitsu center next door, after delivering him a brilliant red orange color for the walls. He leaves an hour before me each day. Instead of seeing a pale face seeking warmth, I saw designer sunglasses and spiked hair. A pause at his car, could he see me beyond the glass?