Spring rushes in, like a fool, sweeps you off your feet and whisks you off into the newly sprouted foliage outside your window. How could you ever have doubted this view? How could you ever have wondered if Second avenue was as good as it got? I don't write, forgive me, I am busy again with life. This apartment leans, every part of the old wood floor angles toward the door, I am constantly encouraged to leave.
I am constantly happy to come home.
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