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my atoms may redistribute a million times. some will re-emerge in grass, or a rock, or the shell of a chicken egg. maybe, one day, some will swim in ejaculate—fighting to be an integral part of a person again, perhaps the fingernails of a girl who types for a living. but even then, she’ll be completely unaware that the  invisible atoms of her chipped nails were once a part of the man who’d had these thoughts.

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