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Down south on Jekyll Island, I reunited with my old friend Steve. True to form, he and I immediately engaged in a ritual that we've elevated to an art form: the all-night conversation.

Denny's booths. Empty supermarket parking lots. Cheap motel rooms. You name the setting, Steve and I have pondered the nature of the universe there. Usually for hours, always late at night.

And so it was this week. As waves crashed just out of sight, we inventoried our souls until the sunrise chased us to our beds.

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Wee Hours
July 2005