• Endria Richardson


Aureliano: A Poem About Coming Home Dec 24, 2005

by Endria Richardson

I. I am going to tell you a story about how I learned to love three things: where I came from where I’m going what I am. It might sound like a lie but Question: just because you have to open up your small eyes so small tooth floss could cover them and open up your ears so big and empty sound gets lost, shoots around in them then falls out unheard, and shut your mouth so big pieces slip out of it on a regular basis maybe makes it a story but it’s not a lie.

If you say there is no ocean between New York and Massachusetts I will call you a liar. Here’s why: I came across it on a journey that took four months and

eight days. I can still feel the salt under my skin.

II. Where she tells the story of her journey from New York across the ocean during which she finds herself coming to The New World all alone in landscape unrecognizable

I am feeling barren today and in snow country. It is the great white nothing with hands and more hands. I wandered past the land that keeps me, and fell into the ocean…

When I landed, I found myself in the snow that swallows in gulps. It is the great stacks of waves that fly saltily, briskly, full of life. In the piling, heavy, weight-y dance of their pause and fall, everything between is like touching for the first time: hesitant, then rushing forward. Rough hands catch me when the wave spits me out.

I left in search of great things: the whales that spit stories, blow the air in, brine, sweet sea, Meaning of life, what it is to be alone. I am feeling today, I am salt-sticky, I am the lonely, I am the Sea drifting through the snowy wet country full of the bubbling, white foam that makes me think of the snow-hills, or foam is the angry wig atop a shifty face. Such centripetal claws rolling towards their center, un-catchable center throws me off balance.

I landed on a boat that is stealing me away from my home. When the boat rolls I dance the jerky sea-sick motions. On day four, I am going to tell you my story: I came from the buildings, bracketing high buildings, holding warm bodies moving between curled tenement hands. The wind-tunnel buildings over eased up sidewalks with a million feet the smooth hollow sound of the people’s poetry Nuyorican poet’s café and the strand bookstore right near 14th St, that’s the old home.

What’s the old home? The warm people the warm place the warm red lights place the many colored place the brown place New York sounds like rolling drum holes punched in by solo blues piano, thick black nights holding my hand walking alone surrounded by it.

All spaces filled in by bins of dusty newspapers gray-slicking the ground by cement-layers’ feet Can’t walk without tripping up on any-all of it

Rhythm arrested when I hear drumming. Coming from Off the Coast we came from drumming sounds like beats through wool. The snow catches sound and throws it back in our faces, pickled faces, punched in by the wind faces.

I remember the drum sound, it is calling me back. Remember the warm things, remember the word family. I am an immigrant. I get my mind around the word like swallowing bananas whole. I am from a land of newsprint blackness rubbing off all over the place.

Here: the charcoal shadings still line the bags under my eyes, cheap ink that’s come undone from all that looking I used to think it was for keeping the sun out of my eyes Now it mixes with sea and leaves train track black smudges down my salt-cheeks just another reminder of home

Now my eyes hang on stalks over big belly-full waves full of nothing but longing to go back home All I see is what’s right in front me and that’s a lot of empty water that pours out of your hands when you try to pick it up

The snow is a big mountain sea between me and home.

When I vomit, it is eaten up by the curling young wave-mouths, always sucking drop down below me tumble me up and down a coarse rock sucked and rubbed smooth suckle suck at my face moist face damp and raw nothing to dry me off. Wind whips my eyes closed. My ears closed. Drums coming in and out of focus. I open my eyes and see the snow country sea

Remember the vomit smell of the subways? Smooth and damp subway sounds noises like a million homeless men nursing from the tits of healthy brown bottle-breasts rats are the gray balls running by my train-track feet I pick one up and pluck its wire whiskers out one by one. When I straighten up from the side of the boat, I know I’ve been imaging again.

Here everything wobbles and creaks. Here: everything is made of hollows and curves, like the sad space between collarbone and flesh, where nothing hopes to fill the dips. There are open spaces between the boards that I slip through I see the sea try to reach up and lick me

Everything is swelling and un-swelling; like the space between me and home seems small and far. Like the space between boards comes open and closed. My heart has taken to beating the same rhythm as the sea. The drums are swelling and un-swelling; I fall asleep to the lapping, like dogs, on the shell of a long banana home. I dream of the places that I came from:

I am in a mouth that closes and opens, offers itself to me, and I take my boat along. Together, we mount the underside of hills jumpingly. The wave, a cupping hand, waits for us to tumble down.

This is where I came from when I close my eyes. My boat turns around and I am back to where I came from. Step outside the boat and this is where I come from, the place I left when I got on:

my paradise land, my place where the dirt rubs off on your palms. The loud laughter place the living way up high with windows facing windows place. I look through glass see a naked man across fifty feet of space. He covers himself, or doesn’t. The wind licks the dirt off the salt rubs my skin clean

Think: home is everything you leave behind you think, this is where I come from. When I open my eyes, I see nothing but the water that doesn’t remind me of anything

I start every story, “back where I come from…”

In the hollow of the wave, everything is ice cold and still and dark.

After days on the sea, this becomes true: everything is made up of open space or lack thereof (the sky, the sea, the boat, then, me). I have grown accustomed to the sound of nothing. Today, the air is so cold I feel like bones.

Together, we are a groan with our boat in the middle of a mountain. It is the twenty-third day and I feel my face to see if it is still there. My hands, limp; too numb to tell. My ears too groan-stuffed, can’t hear the old drum sounds.

This is what it looks like from where I am sitting (a small incomprehensible thing surrounded by so much water): like a growling canyon, rushing towards me and curving all the while.

I miss the land

On my eighty-fifth day: In the knocking sea, I hear the trees I haven’t seen. I miss good pine, solid oak, roots spreading out beneath

I miss such solid earth that my feet could be put down. Miss the drums, miss the beats, miss the sidewalks with a million feet.

When I return to land, I will miss the unsteady rock- a-bye; the waves used to lull me. I will miss the angry, white-haired wig, the ragged claws, the snowy country desolation.

The drums stop reaching us

I don’t dream of the places I came from anymore.

III. Washed Ashore

Here I am in New England. I came lumbering across the snow caps, the ice peaks, climbed the big mountains with ice pick and banana boat to wind up here: land of big red apples and more snow.

When my feet hit the land it is like circuits of energy that have been closed. For a moment I feel: cyclical. I come up like fish heaps, like un-ceremony. The opposite of what is grand. Left the sea. Now my home is

here. Home is where you go back to. Here I come, forward marching. Can home be in front or beside of you? Move with sea-motion still.

I dance memories of the old sea-sick dance, like ghosts watching their shadows. When I close my eyes I become a smooth, slow moving wave

going around in circles, trying to reach my center, center keeps moving away from me like when I curve my spine outwards stomach follows it outwards crumbling into myself I move like molasses under my heavy eyelids that still hurt to open.

Like salt licks my face is still white with it. Lick my lips, I taste salt. Suck the crook of my arm and taste salt, leave teeth marks.

When I open my eyes everything looks too bright. What I remember is the dark sea staring up at me over the side of my banana boat, cozy small boat people huddled up inside cupped in the big wave-hand, held and rocked to sleep every night a little lullaby.

Remember: looked up at the sky and every star was a white hole, saw it from inside the yellow hole that held and cupped curled up in a little dark womb space emptiness all around, safe darkness thick heavy warm darkness miss the salt smell miss the wind sounds

It was one banana boat surrounded by caverns and caverns of blue

every step I take seems too solid wait for the ground to throw me up when realize it hasn’t, I’ve already braced myself made a different kind of movement

It seems like I’m never ready to leave At least I have my bicycle

Where did the drums go? I remember to ask, but only just.

IV. Home

I take three steps on new land. My stomach rumbles like a monster.

I need a job. I need a place to stay.

V. The Girl and Aureliano

Here is where the story becomes more like a fantasy than like the truth. If you let me tell it to you with eyes half-closed it will be easier to believe. Close your eyes with me. Here I’ll start with something easy yes I got a job yes I got a place to stay, see? Easy.

Once you believe the first the rest slides right after.

Met Aureliano when I was walking home from work, yes work mopping the floors cleaning the places where other people shit put their asses on wipe up what things they spill from their bodies nasty bodies porous bodies.

Smells like subway smells but fresher lit by bright fluorescent lights not like the soft gray glow of trains. I close my eyes and hear the rumble sound big gray beast sidles up to the sink and opens its mouth with that old air sucking sound Wet pink tongue slithers out like big red carpet, and I see inside: a draping chandelier, the workers with their clothes with their shoes off. I’ve never met a train like this

See a man with a blue sweatshirt, silver pants, black boots takes my hand pulls me inside to serve tea, coffee and cookies. In the middle of the night, small children’s dream of when magic things interrupt the boring regular night like soft bangs, secret muffled footsteps on stairs. Like a polar express but summer but in the city Anything’s better than tucking off to sleep packed away from the fun The train takes off with a well-oiled slide and I think of the places it is taking me to: Far Off Rockaway?

See the surf see the beach I’ve never been to Rockaway but the sign on the ACE says Far Rockaway like giving away a secret saying Far Rockaway boys throwing rocks away cocked arms and skinny thighs sticking out from under cut off shorts I think I know what it would be like: there I am standing holding a mug of sweet smelling something warm thoughts happy I see my banana home built on stilts above the waves. Big gray rocks all around for climbing on I see my little dog running I see my little happy faces smiling I see inside a little yellow window cut in my little home. See the family table set for a family see the happy thoughts caught up inside see the warm yellow glow around it see my little blue and white bicycle Aureliano

see me walking towards it happy little footsteps tripping back towards home this is my home go

up the stairs and inside see the view big building view windows facing windows see the little families in their windows seeing me and my little family in our window see the beach and buildings from my home best of every world.

When I open them I am standing with a mop in my hand. Finally time to go I look outside, no snow no windows looking back but I remember the boat trip so long ago.

Of course, it is summer, and it is night and there is nobody else walking up the long hill to get home except me. There are no more cars. The people have all gone to sleep. In this city, everything stops so early. No more breathing sounds just me walking plodding shuffling up the street the long long walk the infinite walk.

There is a streetlight and it has a warm yellow glow I stop to smell the warm black gravel streets, look at the cold black iron lamp light look at the warm yellow glow. When I close my eyes I can hear the music of Second Street and Avenue A again small little music places cut into holes in the wall.

I take out my old ice pick and coil of rope and I make a long lasso loop, swing it, tie it around the lamp and begin scaling the big hill it tilts up and up and soon I am climbing the underside of it like the big drooping belly of a curling wave. This is an impossible feat of strength I feel my arms quivering legs shaking just one more go I say to myself and pause to wipe the sweat from my eyes catch my breath mountain/wave climbing sure is something!

The streetlight goes off. My ice pick catches on loose cement. I fall down and land on my feet, walking up the long hill, looking up Face to face with Aureliano the boy who’s propped up against that streetlight.

VI. I found a place to stay but I didn’t find a home until I found Aureliano

The most important thing when you first meet Aureliano is that he is not really a boy. Aureliano might look like a boy at first but he is not even a person. That is the first thing to know about my friend, the first friend I found here only living warm breathing thing with only a name to call him and nothing else to go by. I call him Aureliano because it is a small brown warm name just like Aureliano is a small brown warm something. Aureliano tells me that that is his name but I think I would have known anyways. He is that kind of boy.

When I say brown it is more of the idea than the color, Aureliano is painted mostly blue and white. Don’t make that mistake of second-guessing this information he doesn’t like it he won’t talk to you if you assume that he is made of the same things me and you are made of. I could tell you what but it doesn’t really matter what matters is Aureliano is the first person I met who was really here, I really saw him he knocked me out it was love at first sight for the both of us. He stuck out his hand said Hello my name is Aureliano pleased to meet you and then he tipped his hat and did a bow and offered me a ride home. I gladly accepted of course.

Beautiful things start to happen now. I take his hand and this where time starts




Now it’s important for you to know that what I’m telling you is all the truth or as close to the truth as telling something can ever be but don’t get confused and think I am making things up remember just because it’s a story doesn’t mean it’s not just as true as everything else you see and then tell yourself again when you’re remembering it everything’s a story you know but some of us tell more people than just ourselves when we go about remembering it.

I’ve heard the way to do these things is to start at the beginning so here we go off and away! That’s the way Aureliano started so I think it’s a fitting way to begin.

Here we go off and away! I take his hand and what surprises me is how quickly we’re moving. What I come to notice, though and it takes me a while because I am looking at how pretty Aureliano is (and pretty is the right word, not handsome or good-looking or anything less delicate like that) and focusing on his hand because the only way I can hold it is if I imagine very hard that it is there, is that it is not so much my feet that are moving past the sidewalk but the sidewalk that is moving past my feet. Soon I start to see Aureliano’s feet moving next to mine and I begin to understand what’s happening. He’s moving the sidewalk past us. I know I know how it sounds but just believe me. It is like an old treadmill the kinds before everything was very electronic and technological and it was just like a belt that was moved by your own feet. I don’t know if I can keep going this fast so Aureliano says Here jump on! and it takes me some time because I am nervous about my feet getting caught on the moving sidewalk conveyor belt if I try to jump up

He squeezes my hand and tells me not to worry he has it under control so I jump and he takes me in his arms and this is when it feels exactly like a roller coaster or something cheesy like that when we have pushed off the ground completely like leaving everything behind him like something is pulling him by the chest and pulls him up up off the ground and pushes the ground down away below us that keeps whirring past us like its spinning on wheels going backwards here we are skimming almost touching the ground he is holding my arm but I don’t think it is to keep me flying but to make sure I remember he’s there Aureliano I say what is this? Flying he says It is like the idea of flying more than the actual act.

I could say magic but I can already see your little eyes squinting don’t believe me then. Fine.

VII. Trips to and from

We are in the middle of the street. Aureliano I say don’t you love how everything has shut down and we can take up the whole street?

we are the special ones now not like during the day when we have to ride squeezed over on the sides in the ditches where all the dirt collects like rude things pushed over where nobody notices where we feel like we are hindering the big things the loud things the noisy red and blue and green things with four wheels? Here we can be like the cars in the street the only ones here look at us we are flying everything is going by like the trees on either side of us and the two yellow lines banana lines two banana boats below us I see them like they are underwater we are swimming or flying? Am I back on my banana boat did I just fall out and now am I going away slowly drowning seeing things making things up? No I look over and see Aureliano smiling at me how can he smile he doesn’t even have a face that’s the thing it’s not even important because I know he’s smiling Exactly says Aureliano that’s exactly right where do you want to go now? Rockaway I say, of course! I could have guessed says Aureliano and then we are on our way.

I am going to try to tell you about how we got there and what it was like. Just stay with me, ok. Here goes. The most important thing is that it is like at any moment you might hit a pebble and go tumbling out of the air and the ground you hit won’t be soft like the air but black baked gravel hard it’s the idea of flying and the idea of falling but as long even right before falling ever happens the idea of it is even worse don’t you think? I look at Aureliano’s limbs brown limbs strong limbs the kind you can hold on to that pick you up and take you away into warm night air change things so you’re flying instead of tired trudging walking up long steep hill flying to the beach beautiful beach place you dream about standing on when everything is calm and settled and stays the same for longer than a little while. And when you fall (which we did a few times) it is because you forgot to concentrate completely on how it feels to be in the air. This is how it feels like being pushed up:

like being a paper airplane very light running very fast so fast that you just lift up like that! and if you forget that it is out of the ordinary to be lying vertically in the air going up and up again and forwards very quickly well then everything is fine and you will stay that way until you start thinking about what’s going on too hard. I think about Aureliano instead, he needs a lot of concentration too. It is tricky I’m not going to lie. Aureliano helped me I won’t pretend he didn’t.

I don’t think Aureliano has wings, at least none that I could see but if he did I really wouldn’t be surprised.

What I was looking forward to was seeing the sunrise from up there so Aureliano I say can we get a little bit higher above the tree line I suggest might be best for catching a few rays Oh sure and so we veer up I scrape my knee against the ground and for a moment I think I will tumble out along the yellow line street but then I focus on rising and I am fine. That was close Aureliano says I know thank you. Of course it was Aureliano that kept me up

When we stop to rest on the top of a green tree, lots of leaves tree big brown limbs just the kind remind me of apple orchards hiding from parents slow lumbering things Hurry Hurry you can’t see us We really are hidden oh no they are getting angry scurry climb down quickly look you two here I am! Proud grin hold an apple in your hand a big apple had to stand on dad’s shoulders to get it named it Elizabeth there is something about naming things that makes them rounder warmer Aureliano I say are you listening Mm Hm he says he is warm his back warm wearing his blue and white striped shirt resting against my knees feel it going up and down of course you are alive nothing breathes like being alive I am sitting on the branch above him he looks up at me I think I can make out the color of his eyes in this new dawn-light that is coming over the hills that are over there they are blue and white open very wide or maybe it is just the reflection of the sky I think

Aureliano I say I am going to describe this sunrise to you Ok he says but I can see it No I say I want you to close your eyes and just let me tell you the story of what it looks like. So he does and so I do.

Things are feeling so shaky I haven’t slept for days just traveling on Aureliano’s back strong back but still my legs are so tired Aureliano looks back over his shoulder smiles up at me and I take his hand in my hand and we just keep going skimming over the surface of things in that way where it’s like everything below us becomes water and we are going so fast it begins parting beneath our hot bodies rising up in mist all around rise up surround us enshrouds us in thin white vapor I peer through it peek around it look down Aureliano’s face is shining clearly like a brown hole in all that whiteness I smile back. Are we almost there? Where says Aureliano.

As soon as he asks I hear it sounds like drums it’s the surf I say Exactly says Aureliano we’re here! But all I see is sand where is the beach? Getting there is half the fun he says Getting where and how and where are we starting from? Look around he says! Don’t you see the sky, the sea, the moon, the beach? When he says this suddenly I see the sand dunes all around glowing like big hills of white powder we are standing in them running up and down gigantic snow hills but warmer Where is the beach Aureliano? Up and over these hills he says we’re going to take a journey through a dune dessert in the middle of the night just me and you and some sand mountains grab what you need and let’s go! That’s what I love about Aureliano he’s always ready for an adventure.

We climb hills all night Soft white sand glows like moons under blankets some of them are taller than even the waves that would wash over the boat some of them we have to run up some cave into themselves on the downside and when we tumble fall to the bottom we hit air as much as we hit ground lucky everything is so soft

at one point we see coyote tracks and Aureliano gets scared but I calm him down don’t worry I say I will just give them names and then they will know us

just like I said we see a some coyotes running around over there and I call out give beautiful names to them and they leave us alone stand there looking wild and knowing how to use the night time air and I wish we could stay around for them to teach us how but the beach is still miles away Aureliano and I are getting tired two young sojourners braving the arctic sand stop to make a fire and just sit down.

Next time says Aureliano we’ll include some wild dogs in our travels. We don’t mean to fall asleep but when we wake up it’s still night and we can hear the surf sounds even louder

When do you want to get there says Aureliano how about sunrise of course He says I am too poetic for my own good but I disagree I say this time I’ll let you watch it for yourself he says there wouldn’t really be a difference between that way and they way we did it before Aureliano always knows what to say.

I don’t know how long we’ve been walking but I’m just starting to get tired from running up and down the snow hills when we get to the top of one and suddenly there it is just the sea just the blue water all around below us let’s go! I grab Aureliano and we just fly right down that last sand dune

when we get there It looks different I say I look for the fleet of yellow banana boats coming I don’t see them I say where is my home where are the boats where are the waves No says Aureliano you are looking for the wrong things this place is just for you to tell your stories about later Look now and tell me what you see

I see a beach beautiful sand packed tight in not loose but the kind that’s good for walking on making sand dragons in big towering castles with sleeping dragon all curled up alongside it big red clay cliffs the rocks are there but they are the only things big green and gray rocks standing half in and half out of the water go stand on the rocks go stand in the water go bury your feet in the sand by the water

This is not how I thought Rockaway would look I tell him But most importantly do you like it says Aureliano Oh yes I do I go dig my feet in and I stand let the water wash back pile on all the sand it wants to Buried in up to my ankles I turn see Aureliano running like a pup in the waves Will he rust I wonder Don’t stay in too long I shout Don’t worry I’m not that kind of boy replies Aureliano and laughs big laugh open mouth laugh warm laugh I see his blue and white teeth inside big pink tongue rolling out like a red carpet

I think about my little dog little happy faces family for a little while and then I forget and then I think about how nice it is to be here with Aureliano and what nice memories we are making today.

We are sitting out in the middle of the sea just me and Aureliano and all this water I can see the red cliffs standing small some miles away but mostly it is just me and him and the blue and white water frothing down around us no small banana boat underneath

I feel my face it is sticky again like salt face it reminds me of

Home I say Aureliano I have to think about going home now Home he says? I thought that’s where we are No I say home Oh he says I see.

VIII. Going Home

When I go back I skip the ocean and take the Chinatown bus. Aureliano drops me off at the bus station when they tell us there’s not enough room for the both of us. I’m sorry you can’t come I say Me too he says and I watch his small brown back disappearing as he walks away It’s probably for the best I think all the cars might scare him away

Sit next to a man with forehead stacked like ten thin cords piled on top of each other. I get the window seat and try to sleep away the four hours thirty minutes at least it’s not months I say and think I see the tiny little buildings standing up on their toes a hundred and thirty miles away. Try to sleep cramped up legs wake me every five minutes prop them on the blue 80s dance video seat in front tuck them under stretch them between seat bottom and grubby wet floor I sniff and smell fish? No: greasy paper bags full of french fried potatoes and soggy bread and meat sandwiches. I think about Aureliano and what he’s doing right now.

When I close my eyes I dream about the sea I am looking for my banana home when I realize it’s a different sea. I look down see my hands covered in red clay I paint three stripes on my arm One for Aureliano one for me and one for home.

Eyes open, my head hits the window my elbow cracks the armrest Hey the man says having a bad dream or something No but is this the bus going home? I ask Depends on where home is he gives the stock answer and follows it with a grin his corded forehead bunching up and breaking in the middle like a wave Yeah I guess so I say. I look out the window and don’t see anything I recognize.

Bus stops tilts over and we all slide out, I am sprawled on the sidewalk like so much dead fish Hey! I say What do you think you’re doing? Bus driver flips me off, screeches off. Manhattan Bridge yawns up over my head Hey! I say, long time no see. Bridge grins up above like a big inverted wave.

Lick my lips, pull up the sleeve of my new winter jacket to suck the crook of my arm taste faint salt residue. Home.

Delivery man on bike swerves past me pointy cardboard box of greasy noodles and shrimp bangs my leg. Hungry. Grand Street subway stop yawns up at me like it’s bored It’s head is propped up on its hands and it is lounging right there in the middle of Chrystie St. between the Asian orange vendors and the smell of fresh fish It’s Sunday new shipment today? The fish stinks like salt and sea I get nostalgic for the wrong place.

Metro Card machine eats my bills and shoots me out six gold dollars What do I do with these I ask annoyed

Broadway Fulton West 4th St. I make my way up and out two long cavernous flights up fluorescent tiles look at the dirt mud smeared everywhere right hand itches for my old mop look the dark light of the city pouring in I come out Home I say! Here I am! Hey someone answers Will!

I see the McDonald’s yellow archways I see the playground three boys running around passing the orange ball back and forth (Remember the nights with me and Aureliano outside in the dark, the warm dark sitting around this would have been nice to sit around in this dark brightness) I see a long papaya dog on the corner I see the West Village streets I see one blue note strung out in the middle of the air

I see Will standing there outside the subway like he was waiting for me What a homecoming! Will this boy there lighting a cigarette looking like a hipster holding a skateboard Oh! Let me see your skateboard I say and remember someone else’s wheels lovingly

Will I say How about we go hang out maybe take a wild ride down the Brooklyn Bridge? just me and you Nah he says I have a girlfriend now Oh I say well see you later then

I make way to the park and see the Chessmen lined up Old black men Kings and Knights playing checkerboard chess with each other all night long I don’t have a dollar to spare I say and pat my pockets reassuringly Rat pulls out across my feet I can’t catch it to pull out its little whiskers one by one gray body looks more brown pink tail looks more dirty gray the arch is shining down I wonder when they made it light up like that Fountain sits empty I go sit in it and think.

I need food I need a place to stay. I think about Aureliano and how he’s doing without me. My stomach rumbles.

I am staying with a friend in an apartment on Cliff St. staring at the seaport It all comes back to this I say Stand looking at the Brooklyn Bridge the buildings the tall buildings the sea

I didn’t know there was a Strand down here I say Oh yeah? she says. There is. We used to live in Union Sq so I never really got down past 4th St much Now everything’s village and seaport What is this? Old fishing town I say? Where’s the city the 24 hours? It’s mostly financial but At least we get the view she says. I see a boat on the horizon I should get going I say Grab my coat and walk out the door.

Stop in my new-found Strand and handle books lovingly some things never change thank god for that. I buy 100 Years of Solitude for Aureliano half-price for used paperbacks He’ll get a kick out of that $5 book some things you can always count on Seaport is kind of nice I almost forget to smell the fishy smell but I remember just in time It’s nice here.

Aureliano it will be good to see you when I get back home.

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