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  • I step outside.

    There are four aircraft circling above, lights twinkling, like a flock of mechanical birds with dull engine voices.

    The real birds are singing even though it's still dark and the wind rustles through next door's bamboo louder than the bubble of their fountain.

    Everything is movement, except me. I am still.

    The cold of the damp ground seeps up through the bones of my feet pinning me to the spot.

    When I move to go inside the cold comes with me, clings to my heels.

    I should be chilled by it, but I'm not. I feel hot inside.
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