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In by Lucía on August 22, 2010 at 10:25 pm

This house is quiet, in every fiber of every wooden board and in every bowl in every cupboard.  Tucked outside of town, the yards are quiet, and the open windows are quiet, and even the crickets’ mellow chirpings are quiet.  The phone hums a small, polite little ring, and because there are no doors, they never slam, and no clocks chime, and no alarms go off.   But I am loud, and with me comes music.  The dog knows this, but the dog likes quiet: the dog wishes I would shut up, and whines, and never missed its owners so much.


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