Night lifts over another sleepless dawn, unloosing a cacophony of birds in their vast canopy. Wordless. Hallelujah.

Pity, that is to say, empathy tinged with ridicule.

Becoming good at something is a kind of loss.

keep your head down
don’t draw attention to yourself
expect nothing
try to avoid being an asshole

In the mirror you still recognize yourself. In photographs you see how old and ugly you’ve become.

Everything you think, feel, and say, compounded daily.

His electricity was shut off for non-payment on the hottest night of the year. The beer and vodka would stay cold for a few more hours. He held a bottle against his forehead and gave thanks for this small miracle.

The house was quiet, countrified, peaceful. It brought to the surface all of our inner chaos.

It was stressful but we loved every second of it.

Twenty years ago a stranger stopped you on the street and said “Some day you, too, will look like Dylan Thomas.” You thought of it often over the years, but less and less. Now, looking in the mirror, you get it. Not Dylan Thomas, exactly, but someone equally unrecognizable to your inner, younger self.

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