Sometimes in the morning I remember thinking: it is the sorrow of leaving a place you’re not done loving yet.   In the afternoon the satisfaction of the mophead’s gray overlapping circles across the floor as you advanced down a
Sometimes in the morning I remember thinking: it is the sorrow of leaving a place you’re not done loving yet.   In the afternoon the satisfaction of the mophead’s gray overlapping circles across the floor as you advanced down a
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