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December 23, 2003

We sat down on the roof of a brownstone and looked into the back yard. that bag that had been hanging in the now leafless tree was still there, waving, the dogs still ran around in the back yard in little circles, there was still this subtle smell of creeping mold, fading, as if the air were marbleized with it.
The decoration in the windows across the back yard was turning away from trash bin recycling, towards the architectural digest faux heritage style.
Some of the ones we did not see now were very close together. Some even closer. The couple on the sofa on the third floor of 273 west 74th, was closer than that. For at least a little while.
For them we appeared as very small, thread shaped clouds, rising through the cracks of a brownstone roof... across the back yard... to which they certainly did not pay attention anyway.

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