"We walk,
His staccato steps sharp, proud
While my feet don't touch the ground.
The eyes of the bourgeois pierce the skies with rays of anger
Not solely his.
My own gaze at the cobble-stones, uneven as my
Passion.
Passers-by bow their heads,
Homage to an elderly man with an innocent daughter.
For we are the few,
The proud
In a virulent sea of insurgence,
A bland touch of class."
Laila Tabatabai
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May the sun shine as your ride up out of the dark depths of the underground with the memories that capture the passion that you have shared with us so well
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Many congratulations on your accomplishments and real enjoyment of the trip reports as your week progressed
See you soon,
Shawn O'Shea