Someone I know asked me, unknowingly untimely, what I think my future will be. What I said was, is, a nice tall kitchen. One with old wood floors and painted white, cupboards to the ceiling, and a bright, tall window with some hanging plants streaming down its sides. And I would be cooking soups and baking cookies, singing softly to some songs. My cat, Peter, strolling about my bare feet, and one of my doggies, Henry, laying a happy watch from the kitchen's doorway. Oh yes, but.
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