The wintry morning drizzle was inviting and teasingly threatening to seep into my camera body as I climbed the damp staircase leading to a
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A SPIN DOWN THE ROAD
It prided itself in a seven-decade glorious existence. A transparently democratic, well-oiled service organization, yet, strangely, in the hall where it organized its weekly
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UNDERSTANDING MY DAD
(I wrote and posted this essay five years ago in 2017, and now I have revised it to add more words representing my emotions when
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