You, blessed

Don't ask him, now.

His voice is unreliable.

His mind is mudd.

Digging through the trap of action with bruised hands. a loveless cup. a scowl he wouldn't recognize even if he had the time to consider the weight of the mirror for the sheets. the ties. the stockinged feet wriggling in the humidity.


Shiftless and idle in the minutes before anywhere reasonably familiar comes into view.

And the rain to warn the cracks in the street of their post.

End possibility.

Camel Bucks.mp3