start of something (new project)

He was wearing the suit he would be buried in when he stepped off the train and back into the surroundings of his old town.

Upon returning home, he felt like an extra in a bigger movie or, to be more organic, a last leaf on an autumn tree, hunched away from his brothers on the ground.

Voices surged all around him, none of them familiar. It ached at his heart in a very private way. Was it just six months? He couldn't even grow a beard in six months. He had even tried and all that came to fruition was the narrowest wisp of a mustache. Upon returning home, he had shaved it. All his friends had told him how ridiculous it looked anyway, and those were his urbane citydwelling chums. What to say of the less ornate minds of suburban America?

"Jeffrey!" He heard. "You're home!" And the familiar grasp of his mother thrust itself about his shoulders. She was next to his ear and reeked of cinnamon and he found himself ten years younger.

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