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dancing on sleeping heads
 
 
 

Why can’t ‘good night’ have the same ring as ‘good morning’? Why does it mean what it does and not what I mean it to mean?

Step out the door and into the dark.

Adjust your tie, smarten your hat, pat your briefcase. Grin at the moon.

I long to strut across the rooftops at a jaunty clip like a man in love on his way to the office at the crack of dawn after spending the night in his lover’s arms, cheerily calling out “good night!” to passing mailmen. But they’re never there. Not when you need them.

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