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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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