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“I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.” ― Gustave Flaubert


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City of Sirens · 1:16pm July 29th

Birds, church bells, ocean waves, wind rustling leaves: many locations can be defined by their sounds. Through great misfortune, the inner harbor area appears to be a continuous rush of emergency vehicles. And an armada of motorcycles. And firehose thunderstorms.

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