Not Clean

Not Clean

I hear echoes sometimes – laughter in the street, a voice shouting my name.  But it’s a common name and the shout is never for me, and the laughter is not hers.  Those days are gone because I’m not clean, and I won’t be clean again. The rough cloak that hides my face...
Who Is This?

Who Is This?

I remember her pushing through the crowd, a desperate look on her haggard face.  She broke through at last, just behind us, and called out but the roaring mob walked on.  She lurched forward, exhausted, stretched out her skinny arm… A few minutes earlier, it had been...
Be a Host

Be a Host

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