the lost man chronicles
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the somewhat sibilant euphony at 1 AM

The temperate hammering of the radiator upstairs as if it were saying "be warm, feel secure." Its clicking, more like softly ticking, cousin in the parlor below. The whoosh of cars passing in the remnant snow, the freezing rain, vehicular strangers walking the main after midnight. The slightest hum of the power lines and the precious energy it conveys. The scratch of the pen as it lays down my thoughts to rest after they test my patience waiting anxiously to be transcribed. The silence of serenity guiding me into somnolent repose. The vibrating strum of the solitary plane fading away across a dark blue sky. The stray exhale via one side of my nose. Winter winds rankling window panes into arthritic aches and moans; the hedges bristling, cracking the weakest twigs and bones.

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