Ho-Mel-ess

Every child born…

Mel, trudged along, winding through the streets of the Windy City, his mind entrenched deep in unconquerable territory and his shoulders hunched against the bitter cold of discontent. With his hands deep in the folds of his pockets he fiddled with the lucky gold coin he transferred from trousers to trouser on a daily basis.

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R Tsambounieri Talarantas

R Tsambounieri Talarantas

In my spare time, I’ll be found at my favorite writing spot— where death surely cannot miss me. I’ve been censored... I do not tell—all.