hope grows in the dump
on the rain slicked sidewalks of Chinatown, I pass by the ugliest building in Manhattan. what a dump, I think to myself. then I hear an upsurge of lively chirps coming from a few sparse trees, a painfully cheerful cacophony to my ears. the birds are all a twitter. I smile, early wrinkle lines crinkling silently around my eyes.
what is that sound? it’s the sound of hope.
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