I remember the drive back in the bus. My head against the window. Strip malls and tattoo parlours and taco shops. Numb.
My room, a jumble of Moroccan throws and half-used tea lights, ochre sun through the dusty window, a tangle of power lines draped in Morning Glory, still in the absent breeze.
Lying on the bed, staring at the star-shaped lamp, trying to comprehend what he’d said. Six months. Three before it really starts to kick-in; a faint reassurance. They could do things that...
The Girl From Westheimer @ Chimney Rock
My room, a jumble of Moroccan throws and half-used tea lights, ochre sun through the dusty window, a tangle of power lines draped in Morning Glory, still in the absent breeze.
Lying on the bed, staring at the star-shaped lamp, trying to comprehend what he’d said. Six months. Three before it really starts to kick-in; a faint reassurance. They could do things that...
The Girl From Westheimer @ Chimney Rock