Her Eulogy, Etc.
“She saw the ghost of the old slave when she was sixteen. Ephemeral, a mustard-colored fog in his form. She figured him a ghost. 506 more words
“Cause there’s a last time for everything.”
That’s a bit of the chorus of a Brad Paisley song from a few years back.
Sometimes that change is abrupt and painful. 1,606 more words