Nicholas Damion Alexander High mountain range Up here in this high mountain range one can hardly recall life in the city: the thick smog of factories and vehicles, the quick pace of feet to and fro its streets, the swash-buckle of work, school and traffic, sound systems and gunshots blasting through the night. But here, silence! Like an exclamation past anxiety, an indifference to make a Stoic proud. Soft chirping birds and tender rustling leaves, a lonely voice singing redemption there. The wide open space of vertical trees littered with exaggeratedly-colorful blossoms. The nights cold and cramping like ice, lizards croaking between the savage baying of dogs.
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