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Something to do with being taken seriously and fulfilling my so-called destiny, but neither of these seems to have occurred. I strange news can't imagine why, can you? Clemmy and strange news I live six blocks apart now, in the meat district, and we can't help running into each other here and there though none of it was planned, I kid you not. I miss L.A., where the sun may give you cancer but not yet, and in the meantime a tan hides strange news more than you'd expect. A year in New York and your vices, your impure thoughts for Christ's sake, start showing on your face, your body, everywhere. You become transparent when you want to be opaque. And everybody looks. They pretend they don't but they do, through spread fingers, like kids at a vampire pic. Studying my face, I understand why Clemmy wants to be born again, but as much as I love him and wish him the best, there really isn't any chance of that.
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