He’s there, in the quiet shadow of passing rain clouds, the sunlight playing on wet asphalt, dazzling. And perhaps, if you look close enough, close your eyes and press your fists against them hard enough, there’s a breath within that bitter cold new snowfall of yet another year slumbering by, a smile reflected in the metallic glint of cars blue
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My favorite part of this story is the beginning. "He's there..." all the way to "... he's not here."
-shivers- Why does it flow so well?
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