The sun murdered the weak with impunity. It was 107 degrees in the shade of dead trees. Perfect temperature for a California cakewalk. A lost and confused old man in a scarcely running truck stopped to ask for directions. I stoically directed him to the end of the line. A familiar window lost a years-old picture. I pilfered a hidden record store for vinyl reminders. Their vibrations too dense in my tiny shelter. My temples filled with absentee rainclouds.
10:58 a.m. - 2017-06-19
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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