My friend and I, who haven't seen each other in several months, sit at the counter facing the windows and eat burgers and fries, watching the people pass out on the street.
"I just keep looking for some kind of meaning in all this," I say. "There's coincidences and synchronicities, but nothing to do with how I make my living, or with my art."
"Well," he says, smiling, "you don't really get to pick the meaning of the things that happen in your life."
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One year ago: Dropping my Eaves
Three years ago: Deferred
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