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Peddling Hope In Dystopia 1

It is 4:30 a.m., I am dreaming. I am stepping over the two-inch elevation in the concrete sidewalk in front of the church, it doesn’t qualify as a step, it’s a flaw. I need to get that fixed, I utter, again, letting the guilt rise in me that some elderly person will trip over that…

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Peddling Hope In Dystopia 2

You Can’t Play A Player | “I came to Nashville as a tramp,” he said. Just another guy in the crowd of those who come for our weekly meal, I learned his name and began calling him something other than tramp, not sure if he heard me. “Gossip on the street is that Nashville is…