watching semi-nightly from the banister above,
I'd catch the old man sitting,
rustling his newspapers and drinking cups of joe,
sipped on black and steaming hot,
with eyes of deer, determined and disinterested.
without as much a hint to a smile or a frown,
his long night shift seemed endless and without event.
reading mysteries and romances,
and crosswords were a breeze.
sometimes he...
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