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Friday Notebook 02.18.2011
[I found a scrap of paper under my car seat with these lines scrawled on it, from last summer, as I recall] A chirring fires up in the locust treeas if a hand switched on a lamp of sound. * The tyrant resigns and flees.The ancient square throbswith exultant crowds. Reportersfor State TV recant the liesthey told all those years,and are forgiven. Far away,the tyrant has wrapped himselfin a cloak of rage and fear-sweat;he smells like his subjects didfor three decades.Read More