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Samsara Afternoon It's not like walking sock-footed feet dragging heel on pant leg wrinkled sleeve rolled worn blue flannel and 3rd day blue jeans, through two beep badge doorways toward blur shiny break room I was feeling swell to begin with. But, it wasn't until the young, normally cynical long dread spike hair thing guy liberally soaked in men's cologne pulled his 4 unidentifiable but certainly dead, cube like chunks of previously charred animal flesh from the often utilized microwave oven, poking at them slightly in their Tupperware coffin before sending them in for another round, sort of intruded on my space while I was trying to stir my steaming Styrofoam cup of rich steaming powdered hot cocoa, that it hit me. Sometimes, It's not the things we hear, or have to say or the disappointments and tiny daily heartbreaks that make life so hard to take late on a workday afternoon. Sometimes, It is the smells or the combination of smells that make one wish to be far far away in a drastically different place all alone under the comfort of the sun.
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