i fucking hate writing ...
Certain things make sense. The changing of the seasons with their holidays, harvests and festivals from fertility & maypoles to summer and harvest and the rebirth of the sun in winter. Pork chops & applesauce or peanut butter and jelly, or the slow transformation of Diana over the month from new to full. The rhythm of life. And sitting under a railroad bridge in the early light with the full moon out, sipping on your Mad Dog 20/20 just after donating plasma.
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