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Poem	It’s a long and silent street. I walk in the dark and trip and fall and get up and step blindly on the mute stones and dry leaves and someone behind me is also walking: if I stop, he stops; if I run,, he runs. I turn around: no one. Everything is black, there is no exit, and I turn and turn corners that always lead to the street where no one waits for me, no one follows, where I follow a man who trips and gets up and says when he sees me: no one.
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