I just happened to be walking my dog in the atwood area when I looked up at an apartment building and you were standing at your window topless, perfect as a figure cut out of a painting, your breasts so firm and yet plump in a way that suggested you would yield to the right touch. I went home and listened to classical music for an hour, trying desperately to recreate that feeling I had when I saw your breasts in the window, that transcendent serenity one feels only in the presence of art. When the music didn't work, I baked a cobbler - peach, my grandmother's most prized recipe - and sat on the floor of my living room, eating it with my hands, savoring not only the taste, but the warmth of the filling, and the just-right flakiness of the outside. I could've been in the remotest land on Earth, untouched by civilization - my perception felt that pure. All afternoon I've been floating inside; those breasts were a minor miracle in the midst of this gray, cold week. Thank you.
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- Location: atwood
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