Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant...
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Summer 100: #61-70
I sit down at my cluttered desk after showering by lantern; it had been a few days since my last. Paperwork, letters, camera gear, shards of...
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