On early end-of-summer Baltimore morning, sun dazzles off the bay and people drive past farms. Planes lift and land, someone dies, someone falls in love, someone says yes and another says no. Someone is born. Others finish waking up and stretch and look on the wall and it's Sunday.
On Long Island afternoon, comet-white streaks trail ocean boats, a power plant watches without surge, people drive and text and call on grid-schemed roads, someone hears the worst news and others get the best, someone sleeps for the final time and someone comes to stay.
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