I like to walk the streets at night. I always have. I walk the streets at night to meditate the secrets of the day. In the night all things are revealed and even that which was hidden from the wise and the prudent is now revealed to the babes and sucklings. Walk with me. Walk with me through the city of Brooklyn in the cold and loneliness of night.
In the dark and silence of a cold winter’s night I meet no one familiar of those memories of home, the nostalgic cerebral pictures painted on the canvas of the lonely mind reaching out across the ether for the sad familiar faces and places of a land three feet below the level of sea and sand where there is no hope, no joyful tomorrow.
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