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October 21, 2014

As I sit in the draining bath and watch the water falling away from my body, too thin by half, I think on the city worker spotted earlier, perched in a cherry picker and having opened a street lamp by means of a hinge on one side of each globe. He has, to my eyes, been tasked with opening a string of glass spheres, one after another, and polishing them to such a shine as to remove any impurities, filth, insect or otherwise, from both the inner and outer surfaces. A rag in hand, he cleans out, much as I would a bowl, first one and then another and leaves naught but gleam.

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