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I wore my favorite blue pocket T today, hoping it might cheer me up. It did not.  So much for the regenerative powers of materialism. It’s not quite “blue” either . Perhaps a kelp, chalk, navy amalgam? I often get these things wrong. One time, at a department store, I responded to my then-girlfriend’s new perfume by saying, “Yeah, it’s nice. I like it. It smells like… bubblegum.” Friends, apparently no good perfume smells like bubblegum. Boy, did I get it. She called over the counter-lady, repeated what I said, and then they were both chirping in my ear. Definitely not bubble-gum. Maybe it smelled like chewing bubblegum on the beach. Someone should market the salty scent of evaporated tears. Think of it: a girl passes; her aroma wafts by. She smacks of life experience.  Sigh. Life rests on gossamers, in 2007.

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