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all bridges in town
hide within their structures an epiphany beyond them the world has always a face with another make up in inexistent colors implacable dusks passing over us in a silent enumeration of the seconds planted on the roads' edges so beautifully named by people as trees we sip the air which crosses them like we sipped a laudanum for reaching a serenity which every one of us feels like a resurrection all bridges in town contain a self-renunciation barely perceivable while traveling by car
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