I drive listening to Tori Amos, "Silent All These Years." Singing it, really belting it out. I listened to this in college, warming up my faulty car in the narrow parking lot behind my apartment, shifting gears from first to reverse and first again, gunning it, hoping it would work for once. Fog burns off the slopes of the hills. The female GPS voice on my phone robots off the directions.
"I hear my voice -- I hear my voice -- I hear my voice and it's been here: silent all these years."
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