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I wish that I lived in a place with more vintage stores. I wish that writing didn’t feel like pulling teeth sometimes. I wish that my closet were more organized. I wish that I could make a decision about my next tattoo.

Because I cannot think of a better way to sum up this entry, here is some Ezra Pound. It was originally much longer, but then he cut it down to these two lines.

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

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