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The Liberation of Ruth

“We’re survivors,” Ruth said, reminding me yet again that this too shall pass. I worked alongside Ruth at a mental health clinic down in the Barrio, 3rd Avenue.

The Bronx, as south as it gets before the bridge into Manhattan and slightly further, Queens, Astoria country. Ruth had as much life in her as a woman half her age.

I always felt my age around her. At the end of the workday, she was always more awake and talkative than I was which wasn’t good because I was driving us both to our respective homes.

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