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... ing from a songstress perched on a branch nearby.
Some kind of morning melody from some kind of swallow-mockingjay birdie or another that made its life aspiration to make alarm clocks redundant, I guess. And I was just there-all nice and comfy with a pillow on my head, unconsciously conscious, my mind flicked onto autopilot.
That’s when it all came crashing down on me, in that next second, that autopilot disengaging on me without my input.
Like a proverbial hundred feet t ...
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