The cracks in the pavement are the same as they were when I first walked this floor. And while the chips in the paint and the minor damage that I caused to the structure no longer carry weight or cachet as a right of passage, my name and multiple philosophies that ruled my youth are still scribbled on the walls that you pass by twenty two times a day. Those thoughts were real. Those thoughts were me.
77 Words About Last Night (9-28-11)
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