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....:»:£@@ i follow the tire tracks west. they go @@£:»:....
.:»:*£§@## parallel with the railroad, with its ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§§§§ endless mirrors looking kinda oily. an §§§§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## incredible power bound there... there's ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## a wire fence to separate the two roads. ##@§£*:»:.
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....:»:£§§ even though there's a foggy quality to §§£:»:....
.:»:*£§@## the air, the path i follow is glowing. ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## a yellow-green moss has taken hold ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## where the machines who made these ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## tracks once disturbed the clover field. ##@§£*:»:.
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....:»:*£§ we're off the season when the birds §£*:»:....
.:»:*£§@## sing beautifully. these days it's just ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## screeches, or calls for help. ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£§@## i think of the jackdaw i maimed ##@§£*:»:.
.:»:*£££@@ yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate. @@£££*:»:.
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