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Last Leaf - Tom Waits
It seems this song is playing every time I slip the radio on back here in this northern territory, as I wind through snowless slick back roads that slide down into frozen ditches of broken tall grass. Past the ranks of barren trees the color of clay, long and spare as little boys’ limbs. As I tread water in traffic, staring up at the skyline, thirty two shades of silver and gray, but no white. No snow in sight. As this year politely folds itself up and steps so quietly into the black back stage.
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