Maybe it's that there's only so much corn a girl can handle before it begins to itch at her spine. Maybe it's that despite my reticence to the speed and crowd, once I settled back into the currents of a big city I felt like myself again, remembered the pace of my step, the sharpness of my tongue. We laughed and chatted across the Chicago bridges and sounded like ourselves again, how strange the turn of a dime. The car weaved just as well through a conservative farmland as through the sharp one way turns of a metropolis, I pat it gently in the garage before we close it for the night and ascend onto the streets. What a gift this life, I have time to think, what a marvel this land. If it falls apart, will we say we had a good run? Or will we bring the shovels and start to dig through the rubble?
Build something better with the shards we uncover.
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