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About
Snippet
The
breath
of
the
morning,
I
keep
forgetting
the
smell
of
the
warm
summer
air.
I
live
in
a
town
where
you
can't
smell
a
thing;
you
watch
your
feet
for
cracks
in
the
pavement.
Up
above,
aliens
hover
making
home
movies
for
the
folks
back
home,
of
all
these
weird
creatures
who
lock
up
their
spirits,
drill
holes
in
themselves
and
live
for
their
secrets...
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