Beyond the beige-grey fog encircling the anywhere of glass and white trusses, is a place that her bright smile calls home. An airport is a nowhere place, a junction floating in space, just as we a nowhere, drifting through it.
This entry was posted on Saturday, January 21st, 2012 at 12:09 pm and is filed under Small Stones. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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