And she gave me back a book of mine that I bought for my deceased mother back in the nineties: Clyde Hare's Pittsburgh. Some days when I am this down - one might say depressed - I wish I was back east in a place like Pittsburgh. But fortunately I have friends here that offer a shoulder on which to cry.
This is my second go-around on tonight's post, as the first one got mistakingly erased. So much for the Save Now button I repeatedly hit to save the draft. So I really do not feel like typing with the zeal I did a few hours back on my first attempt.
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