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13 after What did they portend, the commotion and hunger, the overnight trains twisted in hot sheets? What the late arrivals and the taxis, always a taxi, bartered and argued? Dim light—for the best— in those dim rooms. They caged the cold in winter, heat in summer. What was the tally, bills exchanged, counted to waiting palms, money lost and another dirty stack, extracted somehow? Enough to get by, get along. So you got by, got along, is that it? How did they accrue, handshakes, confidences, 14 faces distorted above flame? All soon forgotten. Rare moments better, standing privately under the nights, a glass, glitch of calm, answering again failures and omissions. The moon’s penumbras, the village fires, the river ruminations— these were what you paid for, they knew to listen and too were forgotten. What was a life worth, beleaguered friend, when you finally returned, stinking, unshaven, parched all the way through? Dark doorway and key, hand pushing forward, one step across to silence. ...

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