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  • The first drag I took off of a cigarette was in a shack in the woods with my friend and her older sister, I was ten years old.
    You have to take a drag so you won’t tell, they said.
    I don’t remember when the shack came down, due to time and gravity. The thickets of trees thinned out and matured, the little path that led to the shack became overgrown and was erased.
    The years it took for that to happen were full. Each return home I would notice different changes occasionally punctuated by a deeper memory.
    A little log cabin, built by me, my brothers, our friends finally came down this year. I wasn’t there for the event, when the remains were burned.
    But I feel the changes in the landscape, and I can imagine the patch of scorched earth now exposed.
    Bare to the winter, once hailed as spring.
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