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July 23, 2012
He sat on his backyard step every day,
smoking two cigarettes at once,
with a bottle of cider to hand.
He would hurl verbal abuse at
anyone who dared to pass by.
Sometimes he’d leap up and
dance around them, like the
devil possessed.
But he endeared himself to the
local folks who knew him to be
harmless.
Then one day he died.
And that back street
lost all it’s soul.
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