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I haven't forgotten about the promises I detailed in my last post. I moved almost two weeks ago and I only restored my connection to the Internet today. So until Drummage 1970s part 2, here goes nothing:

The street your grew up on. What you dreamt of when life was more of a construction than an imposition. The way your brow furrows when reading a challenging passage. The song nobody knows you dance to late at night when alone. Do we really have to lie to each other for this to begin? Seduction is mediation, a consensual dishonesty of inverted fears, but that "corny" joke you felt embarrassed about telling milliseconds afterwards is as close to the truth as anyone has ever had the pleasure of reaching.

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