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— Robert Hass"Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings, saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry."
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On that gray street, with the smell of industrial smokes in the air and the afternoon bleeding away to evening, downtown Derry looked only marginally more charming than a dead hooker in a church pew.
— Stephen King
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This afternoon held that special quality of mournful emptiness I've connected with late Sunday afternoons ever since childhood: the feeling of having nothing to do.
— Margaret Atwood
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