Beat generation, Dylan Thomas, poetry…. We passed an Asian food market. He stood in front of the laundromat. He was not lighting a cigarette. He was playing a harmonica. I did not stick around long enough to listen. He was still playing when we emerged. He was not panhandling for money. The signs poetically rhymed. Ta da!
Kimchee…tea…tea…tea.
April 11, 2017 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment
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