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This is not a Dream. This really happened.

One day I climbed the long steps up to The Crooked Lookout and to my surprise there was a weathered and shirtless old man with long white hair on my balcony throwing big indiscernible bits of wood, plastic and cardboard over the rail and down into the rusted-out bed of his red truck four stories below.  

I was surprised because my neighbor (the only other person who resided on the fourth floor) had moved to New Zealand a month before and so no one had been on our porch since except me.  

I was also surprised because it seemed like it would be against the rules to throw things over the rail even though many times I have wanted to do it myself.  Just dangerous and the sort of thing that a good citizen wouldn't do. 

The throwing-man greeted me warmly as if we had known each other for a long time.  As I got my bearings, I realized that the man wasn't old at all.  His skin was weathered from a lifetime of laboring in the sun and his bleached white hair was just a more extreme version …

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