Blankly looking at the tall grass in the light drizzle, I spun my umbrella in my hand. The stem in my left, the handle in my right. When I looked down, it had left drops on the cemented path in overlapping straightish lines. The older ones left a bigger, vaguer wetness; the fresh ones, nice dark drops. The milky way. Fading into the distance. Fading at dawn. A double fade in space and time.
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