by phil gennuso
Those early days, Olinville Avenue, junk man, street car veggies pouring out of small trucks, little kids up and down the streets, girls with pigtails, boys, scraped knees. At night the steam poured out across the flat, across the house, the street, the sky and carried me far away to the sunflower moon, shining down with mystery and benevolence and wisdom and promise.
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