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When I was a kid my dad and I were painting the family room when he started to tell me about his time in Vietnam. I was 9. The color of the paint was cream, my dads hair still red  like mine. He told me of the hot, humid day(more)
There's a good view of the east from the smoking room, and the way the sun seeps up over the mountains and turns everything pink. For the first few hours of the day the docks look sciencefictional, the container cranes tall purple skeletons against a backdrop of fog drifting(more)