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Smoke and Joe
Every morning at 5:30am I assume the position in the breezeway. Cup after cup, draw after draw, the minutes while away. Occasionally the hound scratches at her collar jingling her tags, but otherwise it's silent. My thoughts go everywhere, flipping and twisting randomly like a grounded fish. After a while the coffee is gone, the air is thick and I the mundane begins…
Smoke and Joe
Every morning at 5:30am I assume the position in the breezeway. Cup after cup, draw after draw, the minutes while away. Occasionally the hound scratches at her collar jingling her tags, but otherwise it's silent. My thoughts go everywhere, flipping and twisting randomly like a grounded fish. After a while the coffee is gone, the air is thick and I the mundane begins…