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Movement, everywhere, turning, twisting, ceaseless in its goal to be somewhere else.
American-made trucks, gas guzzlers, foreign-made cars, hybrids, an occasional blue and white cruiser blasts by lights blazing.
Little insects for which I know no name, cockroaches, grey and pale white moths scurrying around my feet, flying right up to my face while I sit on my third story balcony.
During the day, I see brown lizards turning bright green when they make leaps of death from off white concrete to spring time leaves.
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