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doomty-doom, doomty-doom, doom!

Tonight, there were clouds overhead, hovering, ambling, I almost might say moving over the faace of the waters, but there are no waters here, except in the clouds themselves. For once the sky was more than the blank face of an empty house, or a man struck unconscious. So I went out for a walk, with my portable music, and my portable fire, to enjoy this brief spectacle of moving things in the sky, lit by the sun.

I didn't see much, though I ambled myself up and down a few little streets, along the cardinal directions. Blessed solitude accompanied me, with song; happily, I have good taste in music, and was very pleased with the randomized results. These old outskirts still have a few trees around the houses, bare for winter of course, and they splayed out and up in their weird way, too. The houses largely have their backs turned toward the world, their faces to some private cultus, indifferent to the wider world.

And that was the unusual end to an ordinary day.

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