Jeff Rowberg

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I pause and think back to that day. To that old man. His beaming face. The pride he had in the injured soldier his army had made. “And what did you ask for?” Rocky said. “I told him I wanted to be alone.” I remember the old man’s smile fading, how the scars across his lips came back together, which let me know that he hadn’t been smiling when whatever caused those scars happened to him.
Beacon 23
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