fiction
edward w pritchard
The family angel has fallen from our tree and stands in the hot sun out along the exit under the red light at the corner of Manchester Rd and the expressway carrying a cardboard hand lettered sign begging change and dollar bills praying for a twenty between smiling with a flat affect at all the angry drivers.
Dust yourself off and show me the other side of your cardboard sign fallen angel. I need a message from the Lord.
There's no symmetry to things anymore and I am tired of waiting in line for the traffic light to change.
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