lunes, 22 de junio de 2020
viernes, 12 de junio de 2020
The Diner
I looked
around me, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, dry and swollen. I sat alone, the diner in front of me closed, the sign unlit but
shimmering in the falling sun. My wrinkled hands rested on the cracked leather
of the wheel. The end of the road, my road, was a shut down diner and an empty
pump of gas. I settled down in the seat with a beat up paperback written by Schopenhauer to keep me company. I barked out a laugh. It was going to be a cheery end of the road
with him at my side.
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