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  1. Enter the fray – frayed-edged Hunter floor fan clacking in time with the locust who have come out hungry and squish so psychedelically – the freight train that blows by at 3 a.m. moves me not, but the chitter outside the screen door or the fan finding equilibrium and thus silence is sure to waken me. We likes our White Noise, we does. The less said about the Hair deConditioner’s bass rumble when the doors are closed and sweat hunts for its lowest and quickest route to discomfit me the not necessarily better but lest I out-luddite an earlier self then THAT is better. Say hi to your crickets. Mine need some tuning. But my big fat frogs – immigrant Cuban Greys big as your cupped hand – happily splash in my Zika-trapping water dish to keep birds and other creatures unparched. Seems by Sunday we shall see Noah. Then I shall Count!

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