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Growing up, I could never refrain from making glib comments about the things I saw.
Several years ago, I made what I perceived to be, some cute remarks about Uncle Walter’s frequent snoring bouts in his front porch rocking chair.
He would sit there with his eyes shut tight, drooping head and wide-open mouth sleeping away.
More than once, I secretly wished that a housefly would glide in his open cavity with the precision of the B-17 Flying Fortresses from the movie reels that made it back to England after a successful bombing mission over Germany.
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