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our stapled pages, we could swim in their pieces. I hope to one day, when the reservoir is filled with their ink and pulp. 1:37 AM and still miles to go. I do it to myself but who else would I do it to? I cannot wait for Thanksgiving. I am no scholar, I am barely a gentleman. Lists and points rank themselves atop each other. I could staple myself to the sky and then dive into the clouds when they carve themselves apart as they did tonight.