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October 5, 2005:

Musty, moldy smell: a new place.

Slanted ceiling. Flower pattern drapes. Quiet, quiet, quiet: no cars, no sirens, no seashore in the far distance, nothing, only the strange foreign whisper of wind through prairie wheat.

In your nostrils, like a memory: dry brush; outhouse; dog fur.

On the road in from town, he stopped to kill a snake with a shovel.

Hibiscus, tiare, the fine faded tang of old cat urine.

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