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He wakes up. The snow that was promised is not there. All the roads are black and shining and clean. There is a bit of snow, but it is like saying a bald man has hair when all he has is a few sad, plucky wisps. Even so his car is still covered in snow. He gets a lift from his landlord to the train station which is very kind. He has had a good breakfast of a bagel with vegan turkey and tomato and avocado. He spends hours tweaking a photograph with two blurred people on it and he adds a ghost in the background. Then he writes a very complicated poem which is is relatively happy with but then he keeps editing it over the course of the day and changing words here and there and he thinks that he makes it a little better but is still not sure what it is about. It is probably about embracing life no matter how hard that might sometimes be and also something about memory but he isn’t sure. He finishes work and then plays twister which is hilarious but he is old and tired so he cannot play for very long. Then he goes to the store to get some food and then he goes home and then he trolls chat rooms but they are only full of people like him pretending to be other people. He is nothing if not predictable. He pretends to be himself. Then he goes to sleep.

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