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Feb 2017
The morning rained.
Down in the basement he lay flattened by bad luck and worse judgement.
The morning rained.
Despair seeped under the broken sill as his drained accounts stared back blankly and forcasted worse to come.
The morning rained.
Grey skies cut off the last hint of a silver lining.
The morning rained.
And he cried floods.
Steve Page
Written by
Steve Page  62/M/London, U.K.
(62/M/London, U.K.)   
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