Short Story: In these latitudes…

It’s the ankle. It’s always the ankle. It can be the left or the right, but one of them HAS to twist in the worst moment, when I’m in a big hurry and can’t lose any more time. Because, as Biffy Clyro once said, time’s what we don’t have. I hate walking this big stretch of land. This barren tarmac nightmare. The problem of living … Continue reading Short Story: In these latitudes…

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