Weblog entry:
- Twelve below
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she is, you think, happy, although she says her fingers are cold. she types frantically as the line behind the e-mail terminal grows, a shuffling, faceless gray moving toward the next logon, the next send & receive. each of which is, of course, better than the last. she talks about falling ice, about truck drivers addicted to speed, chicago’s subarctic weather, and you smile.
laugh, even.
it’s been four days since she left.
she says that
it’s all about balance,
and you tend to agree. she waits, as do you. there are points, of course, where words diffuse, salting down from intent to the keyboard beneath, bleeding into ones and zeroes that slickly waltz to e-mail, to send, to receipt.your friendship’s e-mail. sent, received.
response.
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- 29th day of January 2004.
- Filed under Story, Memory.
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