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July 11, 2007:

The cushion is ripped. A piece of furniture you bought back when hope was high and the future was bright and there were birds singing outside every window. When the carpet was clean and nothing smelled bad, and none of your CDs were broken, and the police had never been to your home, and your time and energy and money were your own, and the goal was to spend your time pursuing music and art and life.

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