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I am, in truth, a peripatetic, and bibulous bard-oft’
homeless on the streets of bpt. CT. My equipage often consisting of
no more than cardboard, pen and cheap wine. My quality time is
spent reading (biographies, ancient history and philosophy) and of
course writing, which is pure cathartic and pulse. A hopeless quixotic,
my air steed is my muse. I have pay’d my dues.
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