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Dusty Ray

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Dusty Ray

It’s a Sunday morning. It is 6am. Again.
The mornings of lying in, naked breakfasts, sex, smoking, reading; they’re all gone from him.
Long lost within his youth when love was free and he still had all of his teeth.
When all he’d carry was a comb up his sleeve, a pack of smokes and an edition of Aviators weekly.
When he was easy to please, when a simple smile from a pretty girl could bend those able knees
Before social pressure on young men convinced them to fight overseas spread like a disease.
It is 6:15.
He catches the edges of his mouth in a grim grin so instinctively grits his remaining teeth.
Today he feels strange, he can’t stop reminiscing about past days, in his heyday, way back when
Before the war, before they were made into men
He watches this ancient days dusty rays of sunlight come in
starting the day
and startling him…


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