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I’m sick of staring at the box.

The illuminated flat box that Brooke Baldwin amplifies beautifully from, always speaking the same old story. Another  one of the presidents men has fallen.

Jet noise outside soaring through the deep  dark starlit sky...far away from boring boxes.

The kid, her fish  are dying. One is doing well, but the other two...lifeless on the bottom.

Stuck in that glass box...we’ll, at least they can look out.