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35 the MoMent So there’s Aunt Jenny, red-faced, stamping her foot on the kitchen floor and yelling, “No! Tonight, Mister, you’re staying home! You hear!” And though the neighbors, even the deaf ones, hear, my uncle’s already stepping out the door into the young spring evening. For a moment he hesitates under the plum tree by the alley and listens to Jenny, who has made it out to the porch and is calling him, “Come back, son of a bitch!” But no, he throws back his head, flaps his thick arms against his sides like wings, and to the delicate white blossoms overhead and the new moon and a handful of stars he sings, “Cock-a-doodle-do, Jenny! Cock-a-doodle-do!” ...

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