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to his apartment, and he took off his clothes, and he bathed. He lay naked on
the bed where it had all started, and he tried to sleep. There were dreams.
Dreams of smiling faces, and dreams of children he had known. Dreams of
kindness, and dreams of hands that had held him.
And sometime during the long night a breeze blew.
But he never felt it.
And when he awoke, it was cooler in the world than it had been for a very
long time; and when he cried for them, he was, at last, able to say goodbye.
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A man is what he does with his attention.
John Ciardi
Page 18
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