I didn't grow up near any pristine rivers or streams. It was more typically orange mine drainage staining the rivers, floating tires, oil drums, random milk jugs and bread bags tangled in branches. I can't say I prefer it, but I do know that I still very much appreciate this reckoning as my history and consequently, it is tailored into me. So if you spy a Bridgestone P235R75 (with rim) floating lazily down the river, I might just think it adds to the ambiance or I might not even notice it at all.
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While goodness is a garden of diversity, there are parts of us that are quite similar, and some just below the collarbone are exactly and quite beautifully the same.