On a Bulletin Board

I’ve been sleeping at a church this past week.

I share a communal bedroom with eight others.

The church ia drafty, providing little warmth.

The showers are icy.

There are three bathrooms for 50 girls.

I can and have pointed out these things to you.

How easy it is for me to siphon the pity from your soul.

It was not until this morning that I noticed a plain bulletin board with samples of writing on it.

It hangs outside the bathroom that I use each morning and evening.

Today, I stopped to read the crumpled, unmatching papers.

What made me do this, I am not sure. God. Fate. Or, most likely, a comic mix of the two.

I read them and carried their messages with me.

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