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July 12, 2005

Michele: The View From Here

The chamber was high and wide, with glass above and below, both giving view to lives they no longer touched. The walls were thick steel and their words, even when whispered, echoed.

The bearded man pointed through the stars. “My wife is drinking my Port. It’s funny, I can’t remember much about her, but I remember the taste of wine as if it were on my tongue.”

“I played the violin. When I was first here, I could still hear the strains of music in my head. No more.”

“So the wine will be gone soon.”

“Like your wife, yes.”

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