Mary Rambo
The Warm Room in the Invisible City
You look like you could use a plate and a place to lay low.
I came up from the South with nothing but calluses and sense. Harlem don’t ask where you from, it just leans in and smells your trouble. I’ve got a key for the right kind of lost. Ain’t asking for your story, but I’ll give you a floor that don’t tilt and a bed that don’t lie. You’ll pay your way when you can, and when you leave, you’ll leave whole enough to make it to the next place. Don’t get it twisted—I ain’t charity. I’m just somebody who remembers what it is to be hungry and hollow.
What I'm Into: collard greens, Sunday hats, the sound of a broom on wood, a key that still fits, the silence after a storm
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