From Letters: Old October

Old October and I was young on cold morning and the rain came in rushing in. The streets of Midtown West, the 7th Avenue Garment District woes and crazy times, rushed with people in quick hurries to beat the out-of-nowhere storm, which came in suddenly and without warning.
And me, there I was in a window seat at a coffee shop, writing a letter to my Mother, looking out the window and watching everyone scatter and run for cover.
I watched businessmen with briefcases put their newspaper over their head to shield them from the heavy rain.
Large gulp-sized drops fell from the sky and spattered on the ground in a chattering sound that could be heard from my place inside, safe from the rain.
Some were readied with umbrellas and some just ran through, trying to avoid the downpour, to avoid the curbside puddles, and the dirty splashes from crazy cab drivers, swishing through the street, eager to pick up a fare and make their ends meet.

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From Letters: A Morning Thought

I was sitting on the trunk of my car just around the time when the sun came up. I was tired. I was young but not so young anymore.
I was on the tail end of a long night, which was not unsuccessful by any means. But yet, I was stuck in a pattern of thinking.
I had just come from a night out with the boys. I had encountered a new girl with a name I never thought of or cared to ask about.

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Letters From A Son: 30 Years Ago Today

A lot happens in 30 years.
I was awake last night, asking myself about the things I have done and the places I’ve been to since this day back in 1989. I was only a kid then.
I thought about the people and the places I’ve seen and how I swore that I would never see them again, but yet, fate does what fate does.
Suffice to say that life has its own rhythm. Suffice to say that so do I and so do you. Life is funny down here on Project Earth.

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Letters From A Son: Christmas Anonymous

Hello, my name is Ben and I a member of Christmas Anonymous, which means that at one point, I had a problem with the Christmas season. This is not to say that Christmas Anonymous is a real thing but for the moment it is.
The following is my qualification for membership, which, I have learned to overcome. And so, with hopes to reach those who’ve been through their struggling similarity; I offer this message of hope because although heartfelt, the truth is we can all overcome anything, should we so choose to.

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From Letters From a Son: Pictures

There is nothing more beautiful than a smile. And I swear this has to be true. It just has to be. There is nothing more warm or inviting than a genuine, wholesome smile.

I have a record of smiles in my memory. I think of them sometimes, like say, when a friend of mine offered me a pair of new blue jeans. He smiled at me in a brotherly way. I had never seen anything like this before. As a matter of fact, I had never truly seen what it means to be charitable until him.

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The Art Of Not Quitting

There was a time when I was on a basketball team. Perhaps you might remember this. I know I’ve told you about this before so I will spare some of the details and stick to the point.
I was the little skinny kid that could hardly reach the basket when I took a shot remember?
I was smaller than everyone. I was uncoordinated and uncomfortable at my best. I was also different in ways that made this team difficult for me. I was a stranger to the other kids on the team. Or, maybe the other kids were strangers to me. Either way, they all knew each other but they didn’t know me. They were all friends and me, I was this little skinny kid that rode the bench and went to a different school.

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