Such a plaintive evening bird song, and summer only half away from us. Our nation’s Independence Day, not long beyond a war made from the liar’s chair, made from the chairs of the brokers of lives,
so it’s only right a thunderstorm should sweep down on us a rain that did not stay but was fresh and cool. Then fireworks across the sky, though I will not tell you what I thought, or remembered, or made up, but my face and my body cringed at some louder charges beyond my control,
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