There is a House

The two of them, fools and drunks both, made their way down the narrow street, bumping shoulders, pulling ties askew and scuffing the freshly polished shoes of up the respectable men on their way to work, and polluting the perfumed air of the hat-box ladies rushing to market.

The stares and snide, under-the-breath remarks had no effect on either of them.

The pair stomped in unison, never lifting their feet too much, not confident the ground would be there when they set it down again, eyes nothing more than reddish slits pulled tight against the rising sun, smiles from ear-to-ear.


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