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On Saturdays in late ’90s, my father, a taxi driver, would pool his tips for the week and take me, a child too precocious for his own good, to a local bookstore in search of my next read. Together, we silently wandered the store, picking up paperbacks and inspecting their pages. On shelves that... Continue reading at 'Literrary Hub'
[ Literrary Hub | 2024-09-17 08:55:21 UTC ]
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