On weekends you wake up automatically without alarm and wish you were like normal people because you're not even like the most abnormal people, you're just you. At first thought you try not to become overwhelmed by a fork no longer behind or up the road realizing life is like a magic bullet outside your own will, and all that used to be good is still good and has worked its way back some way or another without expectation.
Then a universe great director yells, "Cut!” and we are humbled by a great sunstar also rising through a blanket of light fog over a silvery bridge and faraway east bay hills dotted with San Francisco view houses . . .
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