Our Street Our poor mangy bloody street. If it was a dog you’d put it out of its misery. As a puppy it was different—all floppy ears and slobber. We were in and out of each other’s houses and no one cared two hoots about the bloody carpet. But the biting fleas of envy wore us down lowered our resistance till someone gossiped and it went like wildfire. We’re not bad just human. But our street’s got distemper and needs to be put down. The Dead Sea The water of the…
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