Perhaps, from a fender of a red truck. Twisted with intent. Intentional & spontaneous as sculpture. Or a line of poetry that pops into your head as you lace up those stridently red shoes. Then again, perhaps you were dreaming of beets.
So far his story goes nowhere, but the pages are turned in the summer sun as she waits for the truck to pick her up and take her to the edge of the old beach house. Her younger brother beats on his drum, hoping for a hit.
So far his story goes nowhere, but the pages are turned in the summer sun as she waits for the truck to pick her up and take her to the edge of the old beach house. Her younger brother beats on his drum, hoping for a hit.
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