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… Back home, for example, my notes would tell me what he’d called those trees from Manitoba—real, tall, untamed things, with pure green leaves and sweet sap, and sun rays fighting to slip between them. And back home in the real world, reading those notes, I’d have to push my office-gray chair away from my office-gray desk and take the elevator down five floors just to hyperventilate in the alley between my building and the identical building next door.

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KEEP READING >

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