In the late twentieth century, one man began a journey to hike his desk. This the story of the hands holding the pens writing upon the paper on the desk beneath the man behind that journey.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
washed up on the shore of this morning
Uncle Petrov once swore that snow in April forebode a good summer catch. Summers and minnows followed, and he would only smile and shrug, "Imagine if it hadn't snowed."
No comments:
Post a Comment