I’m staring down the barrel of the weather forecast: nine days of rain, one of clouds. A foretaste of gloom hits the tip of my tongue, catches in my throat and drops like a rock to the pit of my gut [Read More]
a small paper for a small planet
I’m staring down the barrel of the weather forecast: nine days of rain, one of clouds. A foretaste of gloom hits the tip of my tongue, catches in my throat and drops like a rock to the pit of my gut [Read More]
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