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6:01 p.m. - July 20, 2002 I don't know what it's like to lose someone close to me because nobody's close to me; rather, I am close to no one. There's a distinction that must be made. Maybe that's not true, but I'm not convinced either way. My first thought was that A[deleted]a had died and I choked up, so perhaps that's a sign of being close to somebody. I'm not going to write about how the sudden loss of life becomes a bright neon sign directing us to go on out of relief that we are still here, typical blather when reminded of our mortality and how things change in the blink of an eye or with the screech of tires on pavement. Life should be like the commercials where little kids play with dogs on the front lawn and parents hold hands watching from the stoop and neighbors bring over fresh-baked cookies and everyone is secure knowing that regardless of how things may change, each is aware of his or her place right now. :::::::::::::: Tomorrow: Church A museum A bookstore or two or three Lunch in Adams Morgan Sitting by the fountains in the park, watching people rollerblade Coming home Subject to change
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