It amuses me that I'm writing this just before my 100th pageview. I'm not really sure why. I'll blame in on sleep deprivation.


Portrait of Night1. A tired sun sinks low behind the trees, Retreating from a rosy-colored sky, Tentative stars emerge to take their places, Clouds fade to a bluish gray, Trees become black profiles against a darkening sky, The temperature lowers and the clouds release a small flurry of snow, Icy wind caresses the sidewalks, blowing dried leaves ahead, A faint glow slips through the curtains in the many windows, While human shadows from within move about in the warmth. A man rushes past, collar turned up, hat pulled down, Hands stuffed in his pockets, hurrying home.Portrait of Night
2. At nig
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'When you're driving with the brakes on...'
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"I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven." - Walt Whitman
-Jesse out
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protect the home planet
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"I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven." - Walt Whitman
-Jesse out
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protect the home planet
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"I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven." - Walt Whitman
Everyone is here!
-Jesse out
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Commenting is an art form.
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'When you're driving with the brakes on...'
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These lives we live test negative for happiness.
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