The summers before (as if they were only one) were a long, still day. We valued them with all their stillness splendor. And that was his reason for being: the lack of startleness, the timbred laziness, the superficial butterflies on any terrain. In the summers of my youth I hitchhiked with a steady and capable hand. She read the newspapers if someone left them in a bar or a station and understood herd immunity as that joyous way of playing dead in a sea without waves. Of that
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