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Quarter century. Still alone.

September 23, 2012

Suppose it is the best time of the year. Surrounded with camaraderie and worldly-substitute of happiness. Suppose you’d get pleasure and got through the night sharing blanket and body heat. Suppose the belly is filled to the brink and laugh contagiously filled the open space interspersed by wet snorts.

Supposed.

Perhaps I’ll just be happy with this cup of coffee I’m having.

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