Falling asleep in Truckee

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It's turning a bit cooler this September night but strangely, as I began to doze, the scent of my ex-wife's rotted soul wafted through the screen windows, alongside the sound of the rustling aspen leaves.

I'll need to clean the house tomorrow, and touch up the stains on the walls.

Imagine what it must be like, wherever she squats now. The damage to the current residents. The epigenetic decay that spoils lungs and textiles and stone and DNA.

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