There once was a man who lived in a light house.

Every morning, noon and night he would climb the staircase, around and around and watch for the oncoming storm and the lost vessels adrift.

His eyes would stare and scour for hours on end.

Had the light house sat on a bluff or an inlet, there would be no problem, but it seems the Kalahari has no such things.

How did it get there you ask?

How does the river parch and the desert drink I ask you?

They just do and it just is and he just was.


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