Perhaps some men are not unlike unborn babes. They must either push outward or die where they are. Their wives and children prisoners to who they are, caught in a tide, that flows ever onward and outward. Or like Robert Frost’s walker, they take the road not taken and thereby make all the difference. So near the flame, it is hard for others not to be burned.

San Francisco native, lived mostly in the Bay Area, spent time being a hippie, a real estate broker, residence hotel manager, living in the country, life is goo

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