poverty.

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Each day- there's birdsong ( which is nice) and with time I've grown used to the grunting of hogs as they slurp their slop, stinking and abuzz with swarming flies.
Here I stand with a poster board in hand. I look at you as you try to avoid me. In your A/C, as you turn the radio up. I'm struggling. I am dying on my knees, when I want to stand on my feet.
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