I chuckle, I shift and breathe. Squint at your face.
I can't believe I found my way here tonight. But you never quite understood the meaning of paper, the meaning of the lost basement... The meaning of the...
Dust storm.
What was it he searched for ? This obsidian rock, jangled and buried between the sand and poison air?
The sting still burns, and it's a refreshing burn. Refreshments served.
Standing outside and seeing your own breath
dissipate.
Two limbs and a two more.
A limb, a basket of food, a scent, a fire, a gust of snow-blown frost, an embrace, and then nothing but sleep.
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