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Onward through the slog March 13, 2012

Posted by The Typist in Toulouse Street.
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“. . . a roar, a gigantic sound; and it seemed to soar into the dusk beyond and above them forever. . .toward Richmond, the North, the oncoming night.”
— William Styron, LAY DOWN IN DARKNESS

I got my hair cut and braided, so that at least above the nape I will share the communal haircut and be able to hide my queue under my collar. I will convert my shoulder bag back into backpack configuration so as to blend in to the crowd. I have not decided if I will bring a hat. I will lose myself in the crowd of people cradling laptops under their arms as they travel the circuit that links the buildings. I will stop at Starbucks before I walk into the first day of three in a crowded conference room. I will step out for a cigarette now than then, admire the forest at the edge of the campus and count the Benjamins in my head

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