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Usher from Brownsville:
A Story
- Abstract
Their house peeked anonymously from its row with nothing to show it was a cross they were bearing up to their Golgotha. In days gone by, someone had built this row and for a two-thousand-dollar down payment, whether the pipes froze or the roof caved in, they were “landlords.”
Around them seethed Brownsville, decaying even in those days, and while the old women sat on their stoops chewing sunflower seeds it was nothing unusual to have a body shot up and thrown into some side alleyway.
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