Marooned in Brooklyn. Red dust, red Planet, red
Brooklyn. Unlike God Mars I am powerless to lift my Earthly carcass off the
dirty ground of a heartless place and soar into the sky of freedom. Burdensome
issues of individual rights and moral imperatives fetter my already bound
limbs. There is a current of fear in the world. This is why I think I want to
name our new house: Serenity. A safe haven for poets, and artists, and for
those who live the word Possibility.
Who would choose this?
Over this?
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