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Today was a simple, warm day in Watsonville. Taking it piece by piece would be boring. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I ended up at the Capitola mall at one point, reading the first few pages of Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking. Now there's a writer. None of this useless blogging shit for her. She gets to the point, drives it home, then backs her truck right over you. In other words, she throws down. I read her essay, "Why I Write" in college, and I realized what a true writer was. Anyway, she talks about how a lot of tragedy, a lot of death usually begins with "ordinary" moments. Like how September 11th was a "cloudless day" or how peaceful Pearl Harbor was before the attacks there. I once heard, maybe it was from a priest, that God decides to take you when you're happiest, when you least suspect it. I wonder if I'm Catholic. I don't want to turn this into a religious blog, so I'll leave it at that.

I've always wanted to start a story with, "I always knew it'd be a warm December morning when I'd go," or, "Hairo always knew it'd be a warm December morning when he'd go." I don't know what it means or what it'd be about. It just came to me when I was walking to the post office on a warm December morning one day. It seemed like the perfect time, perfect environment to exit stage left.

The end.

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