Winter. 1616. ‘Hand me that cutter, will you?’ His voice was rust on iron in deep water. ‘This junk?’ Old metal with a thin cylindrical shape was… Read more “Prose 5”
Tag: blog
Prose 4
The air was cold. Frost filled pockets would fill and slap you in the face as you exhaled and moved, and that’s how you kept alive in… Read more “Prose 4”
Gilded Golden City and Sunset Surfing
Arriving into San Francisco later in the day, checking into hotel along with what was our only lucky parking spot of the stay in the city. We… Read more “Gilded Golden City and Sunset Surfing”
Through a Land of Giants
We took off from the murder motel as early as we could, neither of us really getting much sleep, but both of us excited to get to… Read more “Through a Land of Giants”
Roots
We all start growing them somewhere
write 