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There is a white picket fence the length of which is illuminated by a white not yellow street lamp and it is blinding as I walk toward it and think of night time photographs how they always seem so compelling  because  of  human  error  and  dramatization  and  this might also make a good image but a tree is in front of it, my angle of approach by which I have no knowledge of any other seems to showcase a tableau that is denied to me by circumstance and so the impossibility of it as image and of me in it means that it only exists in transition from one mailbox to the next, only as a possibility only as a negation that is put on hold if not denied.


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