Thursday, November 29, 2018


Once when I was in college and I got a little too depressed and took a term off, I volunteered at a small peace-and-justice-related organization and lived in a dorm on the campus of this multi-organizationed place and had good friends on my floor and an occasional weekend visitor with whom I was in love and it was good to have my space there away from everyone and all the pressure, but there was a refugee on my floor from a Spanish-speaking country, likely Central America, and . . . 

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