In the morning, the sky sometimes starts to fall on you without warning. The woman has slept too little or too much. She talks away. You are buried under an avalanche of words. You haven't had a sip of coffee yet. You're glad that gravity is working and were just about to count your fingers. What's bad about the situation is the speed at which the words are spoken. What's bad is the people rushing along the streets, the tractors racing across the fields, the high speed with which the news and disasters flash and thunder.
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