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Memory Recall – Petromax
The hissing of pumped air, the sweet putrid aroma of alcohol and kerosene, the spark of the red-tipped match that started it all, and the beginning of night in a far-flung village detached from the gallows of city lights.
Memoirs and songs.
The hissing of pumped air, the sweet putrid aroma of alcohol and kerosene, the spark of the red-tipped match that started it all, and the beginning of night in a far-flung village detached from the gallows of city lights.
I am not a pianist, but I can tap a tune.I am not a singer, but I can hum.I am not a teacher, but I can inspire.I am not a writer, but I can doodle.I am not a priest, but I can pray.I am not […]