Happy To, He Said I asked a favor of a man. A quick come-and-go, you understand. Bigger than a bread box? No. I hoped for a bit of his own just-so: a bottled message for the tide a trace of deep or maybe wide a gleam upon a vacant shore a crack of light beneath a door He’d be happy to, he said. I hadn’t known him long so I was glad. Came a silence I can’t diagnose. There’d been a time frame. An outermost. Now he clicks like on my Facebook posts.
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