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  • There's a rhapsody in New York City called Union Square, where elephants perform trunk stands and the biggest eccentric circus unfolds from a tent made out of many things: polluted gas rising from steal capped concrete, pages from second hand novels, haphazard conversation muttered loudly into ears, do-it-yourself buttons emblazoned with Che Guevara's face, burnt salt sprinkled on stale pretzels. Its one place where the city converges, almost as if at a certain time of the day the world shifts, and the jobless, the suited, and the aimless are tossed into each other. They have nothing else to do but deal...and accept that life carries an imperfect perfection. The whole of it a a college of a calm lake colored broken heart. A heart that heals with time. A heart that heals with every flip of a musk scented page housed at the Strand Bookstore. A heart that Jesus knows very well.
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