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For Shoes…

For about five weeks, she’d sat behind a little old man during evening mass. Her eyes always strayed to the back of his head during the homily. She’d grown up without a father, and had never set eyes on either grandfather. She wondered, abstractly, what it would be like to have this one as her dad, or grandad. His age was indeterminate; there was a full cap of white hair on his head, but he was still strong and moved upright without  any difficulties.
She wasn’t really one to make friends in church. She came to listen, to feel, to pray, to cry, and hopefully to walk out with something that would make her a better human being. She didn’t know who he was, and he definitely didn’t know her, either.
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