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Why I am Not an Atheist: An Essay Where I More or Less Say Nothing

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes." —Walt Whitman
I woke up this morning before dawn. Tousled hair, bad breath, a shirt more than a few days old. And I made my way down to the Pike Place Market in Seattle. Parking is great there before 6 am (It’s actually the only time I ever recommend driving into the city, traffic here is rough).

I like cities just as they are yawning awake. (the ocean breeze of grey fog) chefs hastily smoking cigarettes shutters opened gates unlocked women in moon boots delicately placing peaches On green fruit Carts.

I blurry eyed my way through all the unopened stores, (the first Starbucks, etc.) And found a table overlooking Loading docks. And here I sit. Cold handed, typing. Apparently spontaneously writing in verse.

But I like that. So I am going to go with it.

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