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November 22nd, 1972
It’s nearly eleven o’clock. I’m waiting for one load of clothes to get dry. Industrious evening. Incredible day.
It occurs to me to wonder why The Spanish Nation is still up. Their door is open– I can hear a quiet rocking Spanish– Veronica is talking. I’ll bet they’re in preparation for Thanksgiving dinner. They’re probably having friends in. God how I love people. All these hopeless dying citizens going through the motions of celebration.