November 24
The year is waning, like the days it is getting darker, colder more forlorn. The stories we need to be telling about this fire, as we toast our marshmellows, are remeniciences. Memories and throughts about the past, about our past or a made up past, one we would have wanted or perhaps one we would not. Perhaps told as a warning to prepare us for the depths of winter, perhaps as hope of truly living another day.
Arrival
A woman gets out of a taxi. When she gets to the door it opens. Buzz. In the locker room...
Twenty24
As I allocate the server space to the unordered thoughts of the year I hope that,...
