Down and Out
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“It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure,
at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out.” ―George Orwell, Down and Out in Paris and London I go to Green park when I feel alone. Each time, I find the same row of benches nestled by the pond. White and yellow daffodils lap the edges of the pavement in the breeze, and though the sun is shining, the wind still numbs my nose and knuckles, somehow making its way past my shoes and to my feet. People pass, pushing strollers or toting their miniature dogs. Sounds from The Palace blow in the distance. Ducks sit along the water’s edge, pruning their feathers with little nips from their bills. The pond, situated between two slopes of green, makes me feel at home. |
Postcards Never SentDear Grampa Jerry,
Most nights, when I am lying in bed, I hear the faint sound of someone playing a flute through my open window. I believe it to be the same tune every time, though I can’t be sure because I can’t name the song. I wonder if you’d be able to name it, as you were so gifted with music. |