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Here we are in the low hours.
December 15th: not yet
the shortest day. 8:30 a.m.
and it’s still dark. The Christmas tree
turns on at 4. What’s between isn’t light
but should be, anything but the awful
drawing down of days. I want my family
nearby. I want my friends to stop
dying. My phone dings. Another email.
I just want whisky and some silence.