THE THREAD | The tailor sweeps the glistening salt
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Something odd. Something off. Something particular, peculiar about the way the tailor sweeps the steps in front of his shop this morning. A sunny morning, a Monday morning, a late winter or early spring morning, depending on how much you might be tilting toward some semblance hope in this particular moment. This particular moment of invading forces on the other side of the world. This particular moment of more death from war, more death from disease, death from disaster, from despair. Much death. Such mourning of it all. Such a morning for something odd about the way he sweeps.
THE THREAD | The tailor sweeps the glistening salt
THE THREAD | The tailor sweeps the glistening…
THE THREAD | The tailor sweeps the glistening salt
Something odd. Something off. Something particular, peculiar about the way the tailor sweeps the steps in front of his shop this morning. A sunny morning, a Monday morning, a late winter or early spring morning, depending on how much you might be tilting toward some semblance hope in this particular moment. This particular moment of invading forces on the other side of the world. This particular moment of more death from war, more death from disease, death from disaster, from despair. Much death. Such mourning of it all. Such a morning for something odd about the way he sweeps.