Where We Live - #4

I explore my surroundings, considering each junction, crossroad or fork in the road an opportunity. Down the blacktop is an old barn, covered with kudzu. Turning left, I find the road narrows and abruptly ends at the river. The state highway winds past a Baptist church with a faded sign and then a brickyard with mounds of red clay waiting to become the façade of a McMansion in South Charlotte.

I never go home the way I came.

This is where we live.

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Writers Island