Sometimes, when I scurry past, I lift my head and look at them, the men. I see the melancholy beauty of their eyes. The false bravado of the slouching form. The loneliness of a weatherbeaten face...
A Word of Our Own: Ch 9 Passports to Power
A Word of Our Own: Ch 9 Passports to Power
A Word of Our Own: Ch 9 Passports to Power
Sometimes, when I scurry past, I lift my head and look at them, the men. I see the melancholy beauty of their eyes. The false bravado of the slouching form. The loneliness of a weatherbeaten face...