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5:58 p.m. - May 20, 2003 He likes my voice and my laugh, my smile. He is not a Texan but a Montanan and we talk about prairies and vistas, wide-open spaces and woodshops in the back. I�ve told him some about Spec and he told me some about his background and I feel his honesty seep and in return I let down my guard a bit, though deep down that naysaying voice urges Caution! Caution! in neon. I know it�s spring and just as passion dries into summer, I�ll soon back away, find an excuse to close the door. Maybe he�ll do the same, maybe not. These things are brief interludes, minor stray chords.
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