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32 'Thnight As you look from your office into the intersection below, the dull smudge of a barber's shop is wedged between the glittery front of a punk boutique and a chain bookstore with its collage of dust-jacket displays. And looking down after a day in front of a computer screen, your eyes having tracked the white cursor as it made its soft imprints and erasures, it is difficult to imagine the people below as anything more than pulses of light moving toward destinations that are mostly emotional: magnitudes of happiness derived from a haircut or the skewed brashness of wearing a T-shirt that displays an obscenity in Japanese or the heavy certainty of a book about Poland or Space, subjects as vast and indisputable as the street emptying now because it's begun to rain or because of people like you, held back from destinations, who can no longer see themselves in the teenage couple standing in the recess of the corner bank where they sway in clumsy love as the white light of the automatic teller hangs at their chests while the girl plays distractedly with the luminous keys. ...

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