A dark cloud rolls by but quickly disappears, leaving nothing but blue skies and an itch in your spine. You start the day with lipstick, with feigning civility, you start the day with a strange hopefulness like secrets are unlocking before you even though you didn't know the secret word.
The magnolias are in bloom along the river. The cherries quietly popping in Brooklyn. On East 6th street, an empty apartment bathes in sunlight. At a small repair shop in Chelse, a mint green typewriter waits to be picked up.
It's coming. It's coming. It's coming.
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