Soapbox Diner
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A beginning |
06.03.07 |
He always left a trail of possessions behind him when he left - and he always ended up having to leave. He was like a modern-day Hansel and his things were bread crumbs he'd toss over his shoulder hoping they would be there when he returned. Or maybe he wasn't like Hansel but more like that one night stand who left a little piece of nearly worthless, but just not quite, parafernalia on the nightstand as an excuse to come back one more time. But who he was like didn't really matter anyway. What mattered was that he was gone and only his things were left as a reminder and an excuse.
He talked once all the things he had lost. This was lost here and that was lost there. So many things and so many parts of his life excised. He had a far-off look in his eyes when he spoke, but that was an artfully enacted illusion. The moment he'd lift his gaze, his eyes would penetrate your soul and take measure of you. The way his shoulders slumped and the limp way he held his hands very deliberately made you feel an instant sense of compassion for him. In a very human sense, his story could make a person reminisce over their own nostalgic and painful losses.
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