here I have no tag of stereotype

here I am unique, here I am locked-in

here, within the lemon sandstone walls

of a timeworn, breathless Moorish fortification

I live a little, dream a lot, suffer, eat, wash and shit

He was looking out through the barred window, elbows upon sill, crossed fingers supporting his chin, his back to her. Heard her footsteps as she approached. Noted she was alone, for once. Out of choice he did not turn about face, did not acknowledge her presence.

For her part, she observed he had lost a little weight. Even from behind, protruding ribs told their own story.  The unsuspecting often took his blasé indifference toward all and sundry as a sign of resignation, maybe outright defeat, or perhaps just that his fabled genius had finally played out. How little they knew, for such apathy was merely a façade. A fact she was…

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