Here, a picture of the author content, resplendant in taffeta robe and slippers, happy to be home.
Here, a picture of Santos, the trail that saved the author from madness and despair while on the road. The bike felt unknown to me. I was a happily oblivious wooden toy-creaking and clacking on wooden joints imitating the fleshed riders I saw streaming through the green.
And here is a picture of rain, which is brewing outside this morning in Tallahassee, FL- land of my gods and my monsters. S'quatch is away on cult-related business. Wrecking Ball is further wrecked. The realm is in tatters, and still we fight on.
Squire! My broom! My bucket! To war!
Juancho
5 comments:
I'm assuming your squire will be bringing your bike as well. Going to war without a bicycle would be like a fish without a sidearm.
my thumb pointed toward my ear, my pinky toward my mouth and I'm shaking my hand in the usual sign that means:
Call me
what? your phone don't dial out? OK, I'll call you.
WD- squire BEST be bringing my bike!
To arms!....and necks!
dude, I was being facetious; don't ACTUALLY call me, yeeesh.
oH, I see a message on my voicemail, you didn't...my bucket's not full yet.
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