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PJG

January 26, 2016

As luck would have it, I was present for the monthly spectacle of watching a man, earning little, clean the office’s glass walls and front. As seen through the pane, the cleaner’s slow and steady progress with rag, squeegee and bucket held me rapt for attention, a tingling at that point where skull met spine. Yet, once inside my room, the same actions failed to grip me in the same way, and I hazarded a guess that silence played a key role in our asymmetric ritual.

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