A long-empty menagerie fills again slowly. New dolls filed into long glass shelves, alongside fingerprints in the dust. A matched, fragile pair, found in an abandoned classroom. One doll with threadbare clothes, and an unpainted face. The other dressed in once-fine fashion, now worried and moldy. The forays of collection are grow longer than the days. There's only so many hobbies in The Wasteland. Maybe it's time for a new hobby. The problem, is that it's all inside one's own head.
10:43 p.m. - 2019-02-27
Recent entries:
Pepper Mill - 2019-03-16
On the Way Up - 2019-03-16
Continue? - 2019-03-05
Alliteration Capacity - 2019-03-05
She Shant - 2019-03-04
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