He sits next to me on the bench for 15 minutes, his pencil idly tapping against the empty page. Gnats dart in and out of the sunbeams as his eyes scan the playground ahead, his brow furrows as he strains for inspiration. Finally he puts his pencil to the page, his poem or manifesto suddenly clear to him; genius has struck! After a moment his phone rings and he sets down his treatise-interrupted. I glance over to his notebook as he walks away to see three giant block letters reading: C O O.
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