2.04.2012

35 of 365

One hand clutched a disorganized gathering of papers. The other hand held a plain brown cane and braced the weight of his body as he waited for a break in traffic. A car yielded, the driver motioning him to cross. He leaned his upper body into the street, his legs reluctantly followed suit. The cane gave way as he stepped from the curb. The papers burst from his arms as he fell, a decoupage of parchment on the damp evening road.

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