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Sometimes I come here just to be a lost mariner but I am never lost: there are the snowflakes frozen to the porthole of a jewelry store, here is the treasure chest open to a single pearl laid on a velvet slab, there is the plashing of faces in the aisles and the row of lockers stuffed with the coats and hats of the drowned and it is night, and the moon rows over the gentle waters of the parking lot.
