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Stories and scenes flood my mind. It’s like when a radio frequency picks up more than one radio station. I’m at once haunted and inspired by the stories I have read, the stories I have lived, and the stories I haven’t written yet. I sit alone at the cafe counter, gazing outside the window, but I hear voices. I hear the baristas calling out the orders, I hear groups of friends having their own conversations. The volumes rise and fall, like music. Another woman sits near me, also alone. I wonder what her story is.

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