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The Mighty River

January 23, 2014

I met Andrew A in a quiet village on a hill. The people had all been evacuated because of an earthquake. We sat on a park bench and looked over a vast valley. A great river flowed within it. He pointed to one of the pointy alps on the other side.
“I work in that mountain,” he said.
“Oh yeah? Still banking?”
“Yeah. I swam to work yesterday.”
“Really?”
“Yup. But once I reached other side, I couldn’t stop, so I turned around and swam back. And once I reached this side, I turned around again. I didn’t stop swimming.”
I saw it happen. He swam across the mighty river six times, before getting out and walking home, exhausted.
“I didn’t feel like working afterwards,” he said.
I didn’t want to miss Lunchtime Theatre, so I walked down the hill to Allen Hall. As I was going through the front entrance, Lucy walked past.
“It’s okay if you don’t have time to hang out,” she said, “I know how busy you are with church.”
She walked off before I could respond.
Lisa Warrington recognized my voice and came out to say hello. She started serving drinks at the Allen Hall bar while she talked. I was surprised how young and thin she looked.
Angela came and sat with me on the red chairs.
“I was depressed,” she said, “so I watched a sex-marathon to cheer up. It didn’t work.”
A young man overheard this. He tried to convince her to watch his sex-based theater show.

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