I read this phrase in a book today: 'a doomed, Octoberish oboe of a voice.'
Maybe a bookmark inching through a book is the only visible progress I've made.
I did, though, notice that there are four identical houses in a row in town. I could have said 'yes, I know where that is' if you'd shown me a picture of just one. But I couldn't have told you it had three neighbors that look just alike, except the fourth has red trim.
It's about that time of year when I start hankering for an orchestra again. Oh, and scarves.
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