Waiting on the Reading

Many of my race have lived long without the touch of these fine things which separate us from beasts. Things I call my own now. Having served thirty-six years as needleman for a family far more ape than we will ever be, I rode the moonlight train to find my free. Up here it is colder than I like, but the gentlemen admire my frock coats above all. I taught my son this trade and hope this picture I made will help retrieve him. Come summer I leave this coast for Philadelphia where I hear we of color can breathe yet more free. Tonight I stitch. The breeze off the bay smells of aria. It is almost the season for cloaks.