Each day she walks past the microwave with the little green lined numbers telling her when to go to bed. She thinks about the past month. Each day screams by with a rhythmic pull. It's like watching a car approaching nearer and nearer and then the eyes lose focus and it whizzes past in a linear blur. Cars and days and sequences are all music. Each day melts into the next just like wax, leaving a textured layer of time and space in each of us.
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