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  • I wrote the below at 13 or 14 years old after reading an interview with Lauren Hutton, the famous daredevil/super model/humanitarian in something like Vanity Fair. So here it is, unedited, the exact same punctuation and capitalization. An imagined, but not entirely, scenario ::

    My mom had always donned high heels or designer sandals, which cost almost as much as a plane ticket around the world. Her hair was done almost everyday and the style changed like Maine's weather – but it was trés chic.

    Lauren Hutton says traveling is religious. I say it is surreal.

    It's as if my mother hears my unspoken wonderings because she leans in, but her American Airlines seat buckle jerks her back in. She stares into my face trying to read the magic that only exists in children's thoughts. I didn't tell her, but I'll tell you...

    How can clouds be abstract and realistic at once? Outside the plane window is a surrounding gray. A bog set in the sky. Dusk can be faintly seen by the horizon, but the eyes have to filter through thousands of layers of silk screens to see the shell pink, which is ever-fading into the charcoal. We are zooming through the sky, racing the stars and moon, but we have nothing to compare our speed to – not the view below, which can't be seen through layers of oxygen and water molecules – only the night that creeps ever closer. There are lines of cirrus clouds that slink past like graceful snakes, they remind me of silk scarves from India caught in the breeze.
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