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4:02, tasting room.  Open till 6 but I’m not sure how many more people I’ll see.  Strangely patted in sterling greying cloud octaves, outside.  Tomorrow, needing wake early, at least try, my morning magic number shape of ‘4:00’— if I don’t I know that will mince my composure—  police walking past tasting room, odd, then two tourists like they’ve never been to wine world, then I think a local.  Postmodern swirl of a day, possibly precipitated from weather’s amended atmosphere since there is no wet fall.  Wined, my thinking, as ever, stay writing, no stopping, pages at ready…