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  • Today was the day to begin the arduous, yet joyful ritual of tax preparation. That didn't happen. The sun kept fucking with me, repeatedly begging me to come outside and play.

    I give in and head out the door.

    It's the time of year when everything is in some sort of weird limbo. What was alive and full of color months ago is now in suspended animation. There is a lot of brown.

    The sun has decided it doesn't want to play. It hides behind the clouds, occasionally peeking through gaps long enough to taunt me like the bully in grade school that would flick my ear when the teacher wasn't looking. I think to myself, you bastard, as I continue walking.

    I'd been walking for about a hour when I spotted a makeshift den containing a bone. Kneeling down I begin to realize how fragile life can be. I sit down and study the scene. In my mind several scenarios play out leading up to the death of one animal while the other gets to continue on.

    I find it strange that I began the day overwhelmed with the idea of preparing taxes and then I'm faced with death.

    Was the death of one animal, the tax paid to the other?
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