I can’t find out who took these, which bothers me because I like the concept.
Don’t quite understand if Shalom is meant to be a chef or patron at the cafe? 236 more words
The guilty will die in shallow ponds of blood splattered in streaks on wet grass. I’ll paint my face: red lines, black rot smeared messy, and a field of memory like a morning snowfall blotting out a flute’s hollow simmer at dawn. 1,448 more words