You leave so early it's late, as if a judgmental projectile a slingshot has released, sent as a rogue interpreter, shooting back into various corrals of feral democracy. All wrong turns lead to familiar places, finally berthing in a town of meth gaits & shaved cats. You lived here for a few months as a child.
And why isn’t every movie, tv, or play producer not knocking down your door in search of a KICK ASS screenplay? 🧐
So many emotions wandering through a thrift shop, and life’s travels.