yesterday morning, while turning the pages of my sunday times, yes, i still read my paper in paper form: black inked finger tips, loud rustling pages flapping in the porch wind, occasionally catching fire from my fresh cut grass scented table-top candle, causing mass...
true to form, monsieur march came in like a lion; surly and base, big paws swiping madly in the air. agile as a cat, i luckily avoided any pops or scrapes to the face and bod. silly little lions can’t knock me down; i’m always ready for a nice...
