It's only another day, you think as you stretch and extend yourself past your boundaries. You like to make people happy. The day is all rain and imminence of autumn, you squandered a whole summer to pandemic panic, what were we to do? You think about the open road, America under your soles and adventure ahead. There must be morsels of joy somewhere. There must be some sort of reason for any of this, why else would we carry on?
The cicadas are loud this side of the river. The night sounds foreign. I don't know the reason, really.
But maybe I just don't stretch this thin. Maybe I only break.
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