The Cove
by Casey Rea-Hunter
read by Casey Rea-Hunter
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I did not set out to discover anything, least of all what “makes me tick.” At no point in my average-length career in the field of property insurance did I once have the inkling to explore what psychologists and chemically addled reprobates might call “the periphery of consciousness.” I’m certainly well read; retirement spent in the provincial bosom of a coastal New England town affords plenty of time for literary investigation. Yet even my lazy consumption of books borrowed from the local library did not awaken any desire for self-discovery. They were all someone else’s stories, visions, anxieties.
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