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It could have been the moon, but I'm convinced it was just you. Something was pushing me in a direction and I don't know what it was. Something also made it all seem like a dream, a dream of such extreme colours and texture that doubting its ontological nature would be absurd. At night, the trees under the dim orangey light as I looked up at the lamppost were beautiful in such an exotic way that it felt like nostalgia for London. Yet London was so far away from me, and from you, as well. New Year's was not; New Year's was nearing. Everything about the hype of a new century was banal to me, but this beach town, the fellows and the visitors all seemed to be glowing with merriment for the New Year. Perhaps the merry mood of the festive season mixed with the merry mood of social drinkers at parties: The evening was filled with an air of slight intoxication floating through bodies and figures.
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