Who made this place? Who runs it? Does it have a purpose? For myself, I seemed to have a repertoire, if not a purpose, and my repertoire was limited. I was, apparently, a wanderer. Was that the right word? I bashed my way out of one place and into another. I had fallen out of a chrysalis, fought through concrete and crowds, scaled heights, and achieved—what exactly? Ambiguity. Gains and losses in uneasy balance. A naked drift farther away and farther out from the truth of my original home. I never seemed to reach a goal. Maybe the exploration itself was a purpose. I couldn’t think of any
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