There was probably the cliché of the open notebook on a desk, James Dean on the wall, siblings in the hall, half-there, half-invisible, I’d look out my bedroom window at dusk and see half-world, half-me, before I learned the term rack-focus, the world, back to me, the world, back to me, below, kids walked to homes I’d never see, though I’d awfully imagine, in my head, or from a passing car, Cheap Trick’s “Dream Police" was playing.
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