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Dear 2018,   A blank slate, I look upon this table rase, And wonder what words shall soon appear on the ancient histories of this age. C’est a-dire une revolution 
Standing on the balcony square, I watched the August moon, Its gleaming light so fair, And I knew I would be leaving             Soon…soon.
Rows and rows of wandering minds, not zombies, not the definition of a human as represented in Huckleberry Finn. Not flamboyant like Kerouac. Not mindless like Orwell warned.
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