Saturday, April 15, 2017


From today ---

Sloan and Welsh were conferring on the lawn, standing where the porch light ceased and shadows ruled.  Sloan was an unrepentant throat clearer.  She looked forever young, but given the daily drubbing of tobacco, her lungs left her sounding a rapidly in decline 70.  It sounded like a sprinkler on a hay field trying to blast water past a blockage of some sort in the line, likely a once inquisitive now mummified rodent.   

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