"Fight tuberculosis, folks." Christmas Eve, an old junkie selling Christmas seals on North Park Street. The "Priest," they called him. "Fight tuberculosis, folks." People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall.
It was getting late and no money to score. He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife. Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight. Boy got out with a suitcase. Thin kid in prep school clothes, familiar face, the Priest told himself, watching from the doorway.
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2 comments:
This and the YouTube of Burrough's Thanksgiving Prayer and I'm set for the holidays
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