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- Sitting out on my front stoop in late morning, the cement cool, the sun warm, nomming away at a cob of raw sweet corn.
- Biking out on Alameda in the early morning, an endless horizon of island houses on a row crop sea - corn, wheat, onions. In one yard, two long rows of corn cobs, strung by their husks on a clothesline and drying in the sun. In another, an old man slowly raking the first of the season's onion peels from his lawn.
- Coming home at half-dawn, quiet, turn down the Bee Gees, please. The scent of somewhere (someone) else and a shot glass of contact solution.
- Night. Cool enough for a blanket, cool enough for icy toes.
- Keys in my car on the dirt road outside of town in front of the shiny garage behind the row of trailers and the bulging dumpster. The mechanic, with a round face and round eyeglasses. The car, running beautifully.