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  • He was lying on a yellow and red weave of closele interlaced geometrical patterns. He had bought the carpet in Turkey. And every time he had a problem, he would seek refuge on it, letting his mind wander. 1997. He was sixteen, and hated being an adolescent. Thinking back, it had been like a succession of bruises on the skin, similar to bruised fruit. Now past his thirties, he was much younger than then.
    His family lived in an anonymous condo of the ‘70’s, North of Queen Ann, on 14th Avenue West. He had lost count of how many times his ears had resounded with the verses:

    “If you wouldn't mind, I would like it blew
    If you wouldn't mind, I would like it loose
    If you wouldn't care, I would like to leave
    If you wouldn't mind, I would like to breathe”

    while on his way back from school he would walk through that enormous gray box that was his home.
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