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Sitting in the Sun Sometimes he's there with his coffee, loaded with sugar, and a pack of cigarettes. Sometimes he walks around the house, speaking to someone that he used to know. Sitting in the sun, skin like leather, eyes small and with a sense of wonder. Sometimes he pounds his fist on his lap, arguing with the man he used to know: a father that died years ago, who's love is missing from his life in the sun.
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