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50 Serotonin Long time we journeyed, not beaching on the foam at Ellis Island or on the gray firmament of Brooklyn Heights. A curse had fallen on us, cast by no one. No blame, the Book of Changes said, and mirabile dictu, There was none: just a great expanse of bile-black ocean adrift with rotting haddock and Styrofoam. The crew collapsed on the gull-fouled deck, licking salt from each other’s bellies, oblivious that all we had to do Was climb the mainmast, tear a hole in the sky, arise, and fly on. ...

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