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Mustard Beard
This is a picture I did not take of my dad sleeping on the couch, mustard slathered in his beard cheeseburger from dinner still in hand, grasping It just tight enough so he wouldn’t drop it, head cocked back, mouth wide open snoring away without a care in the world. I wouldn’t have even noticed him if the blinds hadn’t been open, casting only my father’s portion of the couch with a yellowish light, making him conspicuous.
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