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  • Oh it gets so lonely/When you're walking/And the streets are full of strangers

    My California dreams come in and out of focus. Often foggy like the San Francisco Bay. Sharp sun breaks through from time to time – the glare of certainty, longing. But I’m becoming used to the haze, the occasional shower, the persistence of gray. I wonder: can I leave my home of asphalt and steel, mirrors and speed, to walk the damp ground of the other coast?
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