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Edited on Tue Apr-20-10 12:33 AM by Ozymanithrax
I'm setting downstairs, working on my novel. I mean, the words are flowing from my fingertips. At this point, slightly over a third of the way through, I'm not even thinking about the story. It is like I've cut open a vein with the story gushing out of me.
I notice that outside the patio door a skunk has come up from Poway Creek, across Saber Spring Parkway (deserted this time of night), up the hill, through the fence, to eat the dog food left out there. It is one of those big white stripe Pepe La Pew skunks. I walk over to the window and stand just he other side of the door. For a moment we lock eyes. It looks at me, assessing me as a threat and decides to go on eating.
Finished, it waddles off across the lawn to go back to the creek, leaving only a whiff of its presence.
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