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< but could a broken old soul be loved when it is not sure it can still love itself?... remembering living (dying?) in Buffalo, NY in 1999 (or was it 1998?) and shovelling snow at the Dupont plant and riding by Love Canal, trying not to breath and thinking about how my life was slipping away and all I could do was hang on to hope and work a hundred hours a week or more so I would not have to think about it... one hot summer night sitting in my room on River Road, looking out on the Niagara and wondering what it would be like... and in February, looking down at a glacier while standing on the bridge over the falls with one foot in the US and the other in Canada, wondering what it would be like... thoughts of death are never far away, especially since the turn of the millenium... I left some vital part of me behind in the twentieth century...
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