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  • I made fried green tomatoes for supper this evening. Billy brought me a basket of them. His sister said to take them from her neighbor's yard. The neighbor had moved away and she was afraid the tomatoes would wither on the vine.

    Right now, as I listen to the rain falling on empty sidewalks, mingled with the sound of an electric fan, I think about the totality of my life. Sitting alone in a dark room, I think about what it means to wither on the vine.

    I think in terms of days, hours, and minutes. I think in hourglasses and grains of sand.

    I think about seasons changing. About Winter coming.

    About how big the world is and how so many roads call me.

    I think about running away from home. Again.

    All because of some fried green tomatoes...

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