The garbageman kept it because it had butterflies all over the cover. He's always picking up all this terrible shit, old people's things, immigrants' dirty crap, table scraps and papers and broken pieces of everything. But sometimes there's something that makes him smile. Then he picks it out and tosses it to the driver and yells, "Stick it on the
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This is beautiful. I wish I had written it! My diaries, though... the last one I owned met its demise at my own hand, a tattered mound of cinders gradually being blown into the wind as said wind snaked past the parked cars in my apartment complex's lot one muggy predawn twilight in May, only to find its last semblance of life scuffed into the asphalt by an untied sneaker.
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