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scotland

the local tinker shouted across the street at us last night as we walked home to go to bed, “does either of youse have a horse and carriage I can borrow?”, his hair wild and hands jammed down the garbage can on the corner.  He reappeared, later, out of the bedroom window, at maybe one or two in the morning, when I saw his big winter coat flapping and his neon-green reflective snow-pants twinkling under the light of the street lamps as he swung off his bike, and dragged the grocery cart with his findings through a nice little gate with a sweet little yard into the house.

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