On the Fourth Morning
On the fourth morning, I had more or less dignity. They weren’t sure about the people                 in the yellow house, red shutters. They had a dog and no leash. But while they were going through the gate, it was simple. Especially when I needed to finish the page.                                    He perked up his head at the sound of a toaster oven:                                                                       “ding”.  The glass eels turn gold in the river.
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