Why didn't anyone ever tell me how beautiful the world is?
Seriously. Or maybe I just never really had time to notice, rushing from one apocalypse to the next, and in between all the slayage there was trying not to flunk math and history, at first, and later taking care of Dawn and the house. I mean, there's a lot of old stuff in Sunnydale--there used to be a lot of old stuff in Sunnydale--but it was pretty much all trying to kill me. Not like here.
Here I am leaning my back against some old stone wall, and in the town behind me all the houses are made out of the same gold rock. Pretty, with clean cobblestones and red tiles and all kinds of good smells. In an hour I'll go back to my hotel and change and then find a place to eat but right now everything is too perfect to move: the green grass I'm sitting on, the gold wall behind me and the blue sky up there. The thing I love best is that this is a fort. I don't know when it was built or who was fighting who, but these are some serious walls and ditches. Or they were--I keep having this problem, forgetting all the ways the world changed. Or keeps changing, or something. Because now this is a park, not a battlefield, and there are three kids kicking a soccer ball around just below me, in the ditch there, in the sun.
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