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I said goodbye to Reese. She has moved to LA and has no plans to move back to the Bay Area. She was in town for a few days earlier this week, tying up a few loose ends before heading south. I got to see her on her last day in the City. We met for lunch and had a long pleasant conversation about her future plans. "That's why I like talking with you, Harold," she said. "You're the only person who doesn't think what I'm doing is crazy." Her joy, her happiness, is a beautiful thing. Plants and flowers bend toward her. But I'm so tired of losing people to Los Angeles. So many I have known and loved have gone south and disappeared.

A couple days later, I spent my lunch break gathering books to send to Reese. She called me late that night. "I wanted to share with you a book I'm reading," she said. I was so flattered that she would do that. Her voice warms my ear. I look forward to the letters we will exchange. I hope to maintain that long-distance adhesive quality.

Putting my arm around her to shield her from bright wind and cold. Vigorously rubbing her shoulders and back. Wondering what it would be like to feel her bare skin, to run my lips up and down her valley of vertebrae. Tasting every pore.

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