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“Yeah, all the way. No ride, no bus, just walkin’. I can’t quit till I give you your message, and finish drawing this sand script so you’ll know I’m not lying.” I was shocked by what he was telling me. I looked around half expecting to see one of my neighbors come out laughing and pointing and shouting “HA! You’ve been punked!” but no one was around; just he and I alone. The man began to speak, and this is truly what he said, “You’ve had a hard road to hoe, and life hasn’t always been fair in your eyes. But your angel wants me to tell you not to give up. You’re finally on the right path. And he’s proud of you.” “He’s a he?” I asked, stupidly. “Yes, he’s a he (as if I’d just asked the lamest question of all time), now will you let me finish?” “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m just not used to men drawing angels and giving me a message.” The man stopped what he was doing, and looked up at me. The look on his face was as if he was thinking “If I had a quarter for each time I heard that…”, but he said nothing. He went back to drawing, and was working on the detail of the face and neck, drawing an outline of the shirt collar, and then back to the face. I knew this picture, but I couldn’t tell who it was, I kept thinking it must be a famous person, why was it so familiar? “Your angel wants you to know, you’re not alone, he’s been with you forever—since you were pretty much born. He’s sorry he left when he did, he knows you needed him.” I just listened now, “You lost him when you were about 12, and life got rough on you. He was there watching, and protecting you best he could.” I was stunned; I could see who the face was now. Then the man stood up, and placed his hand on my shoulder. He said these words, “He says to tell you, don’t be worried about buying that house, you’ll grow old in it, and even though the world seems bleak, you’re going to make it. He says you need to hear that, because he says you’re going to have a heart attack if you don’t quit worrying.”
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