How about the feeling when you just finished an amazing book, and you are utterly without the capability of doing anything afterward. Where you walk around your room, kind of fanning your face with your hands (maybe just me), and because of what you just read -you can make anything seem beautiful.
"Well and good.
How to explain, then, that, with his foot actually on the bridge over the creek, George suddenly turns, chuckles to himself, and with the movement of a child wriggling free of a grown-up -- old guardian Cortex -- runs off down the road, laughing, toward the ocean?"
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