Thousands of them. Thousands upon thousands over these last four years. In each of my slow-walk days, I pass ten, maybe thirty, occasionally hundreds. And even now, even after seeing so many of them they tug at the corners of my eyes, sting me with tiny jolts of sadness, lonlieness, regret, guilt even.
Crosses.
The roads of South . . . → Read More: A glimpse of road
what’d you say?