Running Home

I sit across the street from the parish I grew up in, across from a group of boys wearing the gear from my high school. In a donut shop that has changed names. but not purpose in the last 40 years.

The cars are newer, better, shinier. The weather is not. It’s still Cleveland Grey. The roads still flatter, straightet than the place I now call home. I can see a mile down the road.

It’s a good day for a run.

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