notes from the road
Love the Lonely Among You
It happens every Sunday. I see them walking in. There’s a look. They are new. They don’t know where anything is or whom to ask for help. Their heads are on a swivel, searching.
It happens every Sunday. I see them walking in. There’s a look. They are new. They don’t know where anything is or whom to ask for help. Their heads are on a swivel, searching.