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  • There's a street lamp on my wall. It wasn't there a minute ago.

    I had cracked the shades of my hotel room, just for a hint of natural light. I was developing a headache; any more light in the room would've backfired.

    I heard the birds chirping outside; they seemed pleased with the beautiful weather. People chatting, the occasional motorcycle, the sound of swaying leaves.

    Then up on my wall, from out of nowhere, appeared the street lamp. It was a perfect street lamp, as far as such things go, with a strong, proud posture and solid lines. I could make out the space between each wire on the metal grate protecting its unlit bulb.

    From the opposite corner, a family of maple leaves materialized on the wall - first shy, unsure of themselves, then dancing towards the street lamp, like they were trying to coax it into joining the party.

    The street lamp took no notice - or at least gave no sign of noticing, as most street lamps are prone to being stoic, upright, even uptight. A proper street lamp, he is. And he had a job to do later tonight, when the sun went down - the graveyard shift. No time for this verdant tomfoolery so soon before work.

    The maple leaves danced and danced, attempting to lure the street lamp, even for just a moment, into their world. The street lamp harrumphed obstinately.

    A large cloud appeared outside - the largest of the day so far. My room darkened.

    The street lamp on my wall vanished, along with the family of maple leaves.

    I wondered if the leaves would try again some other time.
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