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i like it right here. i hear the rhythm of the traffic on the road; the way the traffic dies out in the rain. there’s an ice machine across the street and chennups down by the post office and the sound system across the road at the rum shop. a gang of fishermen lay out two nets just off our steps this morning. by the time we got to grand anse another gang of men was laying a net out of a two-bow boat, crewed up by a laughing rasta who took a bucket of sea eggs out to deeper water to multiply.


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