I slouch into position against the center wall of the Denville train shelter. The center wall is important because it is where the best heat lamp is. It is where the wind blows in from the missing wall, given, but it is where the best heat lamp is. The heat lamp on the right is temperamental, and the heat lamp on the left is always busted. I can
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.not.fun.
And then I attempted to clean it up by throwing tissues on it. How revolting.
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I've often thought about how people say the best way to die is to be in bed surrounded by your friends and family. These are people who don't understand the messiness of death.
I've often thought that I, like an animal, would like about a half-hour's forewarning of my death in which I can attempt to drag myself off into the woods to die in solitude with no one the wiser about the more sticky bits. It appeals, strangely, to my soul which is not connected with nature in any appreciable way, to be part of nature at the very very end.
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What?
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