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by Jason Miller
Featured Writer
Dandelion Salad
Thomas Paine’s Corner
June 12, 2010
Two weeks ago, as I was figuratively staggering through the worst existential pummeling I’ve endured since my self-imposed sentence to Dante’s Inferno in the early 90’s, I had a profound (recovering) alcoholic’s moment of clarity.
Alone and grappling with the unwelcome silence of solitude, my mind conjured remembrances of sad and broken people pouring out their souls to other equally broken people, smoke lingering so heavily in the air that one could readily “catch” cancer without taking a drag from a cigarette, the comforting aroma of coffee (a recovering addict’s best friend) wafting through the air , streams of tears flowing like tiny rivers whose headwaters had emerged from the thunderstorms of human pain, raw emotions unflinchingly revealed to a pack of strangers (where does that happen besides AA?), obliterated dreams and shattered lives vividly displayed in Technicolor supported by Dolby Sound, and enough street psychology espoused that an industrious writer could have readily filled the shelves of Barnes and Nobles’ self-help section.
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