This might surprise.

Every day when I drive to work, when I pass the quarry on my right, almost to Nelsonville, there is a pontoon on the far end.  It has been parked on the far end for as long as I can remember, and it always looks like there is a man standing in it, in heat, in cold, rain, or snow.  And whenever I drive by, I think about that non-man and tell myself to remember to use him in a piece of writing.   I never have and most certainly never will because within seconds after I drive by that boat I forget he is there.

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