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July 4, 2007
My knuckles irritably rapped at the LCD screen as crickets chirped in the spanish moss and a large cockroach skittered past my feet. I remember calling my brother last year, rapping my knuckles on a different LCD screen, proudly proclaiming to him that I was about to travel over the bridge for a night of debauchery-simultaneously wondering what I was missing past the mountains. Smiling faces appeared on the monitor now, in front of For Sale signs. Live for today, all the advertisements would say, because tomorrow isn't promised. But right now, the past is all I have to hold.