July 12, 2021

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The world takes on a blurred filminess on these hazy mornings, like peeking through the window of an old smokey bar with cataract eyes, where all the edges are obscured and the colors muted in their yellow-toothed, Marlboro murkiness. Someone made an effort to cheer things up (some song you can’t quite make out is playing on the jukebox) but the smoke just hangs there in the stillness above the somber few sitting there at bar time on a Sunday night, like an eagle against a cloud.