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LISTEN TO YOUR HEART STRINGS

His name is Cory. He is young and I would guess he is about my age in his mid to late thirties. He is always wearing dark pants, a puffy, navy blue bomber jacket, baseball cap, and a red backpack slung sideways across his back. He walks with his hands stuffed inside his pockets; his head slightly down. There’s a sadness; a heaviness to his gait as he walks down the sidewalk-less, narrow, and curvy road toward town. I’ve passed him dozens and dozens of times as I drive my littlest one to and from preschool. I’ve always wondered what his story is. Who is this man? Is he  ...