Memoir

As a youth, I realized a few things about life. Being an  adult 

is difficult 

Each distinct street triggers

arrows of movement.  Glutted alleys of clashes  consume cars of choices.

Untidy avenues

with rusty dented doors smeared beneath blue paint  stand by shuffling feet gone awry.  Everyday you must try; 

move a few yards forward

If you are lucky  each day completed   imports new memories, building a story 

that has a definite ending.

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