Posted on December 28, 2019
by Alex V. Weir
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“There’s nothing out there,” I said stepping across decript floorboards. They creaked in protest. “Ok,” I responded. “I guess there’s some wheat in the field. Though it’s wilted.” The wind shuffled the flies on the brick windowsill. “What? You thought they were paper airplanes?”… Continue Reading “Jack was always last…”
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