June 9th 2007.

Growing on the boulevards were tall trees shooting up from the ground and then exploding above the houses in bursts of green.  The houses sitting underneath them sat back from the road, and were each painted a different color–and each had its own unique architecture.  Cars lined the streets, parked on either side, and it was almost impossible to find a spot, should one happen to own a car–it was not needed.  Life was everywhere: people biked, walked, laughed and talked up and down the streets, moving arm in arm or holding hands, sitting at cafes and eating or sipping on cold coffees, or sitting on porches with friends and drinking beer.  At noon, the sun would shine down and bake the ground; at dusk, only the tops of the buildings and trees would be lit, leaving their bottom halves draped in shade.

She was thin and always wore her hair in a pony tail, which bobbed up and down as she walked–and at times she would wink, turning up the corner of her mouth and squinting her eyes slightly.  Her family was the usual topic of conversation (for her), and she talked about her mother with the greatest care and concern, with a genuine tone of voice (no false starts, no retooling) and unblinking, saucer-like eyes.

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