The Lark
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The Lark

The Physical Part II

Plague famine and war

Somehow I always end up in these places that smell like ammonia and body odor and remind me of jail. After what seemed like an eternity, a doctor who looked like she was about 14-years old swung open the door.

“Ah, Mr. ____. How are we doing today?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”




The Lark shares fictional short stories and poetry

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Harry Seitz

Harry Seitz

Writer and Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

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