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Knxwledge - stilluhme

A letter on cicadas: Dear ---, on the train ride back from D.C., I began to be afraid. The news had spoken of a dangerous brood that was due to emerge from their underground holes that very night. The normal 4-hour train ride became, for some reason, a 7-hour train ride. We circled around Richmond for what felt like several days. The territory of this brood extended all through the Mid-Atlantic, i.e., all the states I love and travel through. All I could picture was roads covered in carpets of cicada bodies, their red eyes blaring--making noise somehow--in the lights of oncoming cars. I imagined them lined up at my door, waiting to pounce on me. I had heard they would be aggressive. Not actively attacking, I guess, but actively being aggressively dumb, flying blindly into whatever, which would include me and my own personal, screaming head. Trees would become coated in cicadas. The noise would be deafening, like a million petulant toddlers detonating at full whininess at once. I did not relish the idea of going for a walk in the park unprotected. But it all turned out to be an exaggeration. The only one I saw that summer was a dead carcass on the trunk of a friend's parents' tree.

[BUY Hud Dreems]

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