About Leaving

When I played this Bob Dylan cover this morning before breakfast, I remembered that I once had similar feelings (maybe with more anger) as I left my stepfather after my mother had made suicide (because he always was beating her when he was filled up with whiskey). He grabbed his rifle when I was leaving and tried to shoot me down, but he only hit the roof of my car. I never came back, indeed. Bob Dylan sang with a kind of understatement: “You just kinda wasted my precious time” Photo: East Germany (DDR) with my “Trabi” car; I’ve escaped…


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