I don't ever want to forget what it was like to open a brand new book and put my face between the pages to inhale the scent of fresh ink on the crisp, new paper.
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Bottle of Red, Bottle of White…
Chapter 1 On Christmas Eve in 1978, I quietly slipped away from the dinner table and made my way to the dimly lit parlor. The bank of windows facing the sidewalk showcased the twinkling lights on the houses that lined Richardson Street. This formal room was reserved for Christmas, Easter, and the occasional visit from Sister Marie James. Sitting down cross-legged on the…