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Day Thirteen #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Up early this morning. I couldn’t sleep any longer anyway. I had remembered why the name of Lyle the pigeon boy came to me. I had made a promise to someone to find him if I could.

They did not know which bridge he lived under. They just knew the fact that he did.

“Like a troll?” I asked. They thought that was funny, but avoided answering, just exacted the promise, and added that it would be worth my while.

But I was serious after a manner of speaking. I was hoping they would offer some sort of explanation.

Spent the day searching – nothing – which leaves the other bridges to check. A confirmation? That was the third option after all.

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About rwoz2

Poet, historian, writer for stage and screen. Responder to Jesus (Romans 5:8)

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