Читать книгу Standpipe - David Hardin - Страница 8

Have a blessed day, I’m told over and over again. I’ve never felt so blessed. Kindness, bestowed by people too bereft of surplus to warrant such generosity. I’m grateful, but my gratitude is leavened with a liberal dash of liberal guilt. I wince despite myself every time I hear it uttered. Repetition dulls the sting. Liberated by banality, I mourn the loss.