Photograph by Diana Young. . You like that dreamy, what she called it, sky with fingers tickling out laughter or something else .

Fugue state

He’s a junky for the tune. He can’t kick it, the kick he gets, like one Saturday— he was ten —and the Governor came to town to see his father, drove all the way from the capital like he would do once in a while ’cause they were friends, pals really, the Governor and his... Continue Reading →

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