Now returned to a place he once knew, there was a traveller known as Lious K, for a time, a second father to me. His home, my stop on the trek home from school, theirs had the better order, the sweeter smells, the brighter sounds. Thiers would delay the ineviatable of my own, the punishing and relentless toil of my large gypsy family. Such a patient and loving soul he was, and I lucky enough just to be one more preteen vagabond in need of a real father, scrabling around at his. Our last conversation captured here, as I blew prayers into his eternal sails.
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