Off SeasonNo tourists will come today; this time of year the islands are for the locals, with big rum bellies sucking goat meat from teeth after noon day meals.Off Season
Nobody here to buy the t-shirts sailing the market square wind, straining to hear Miss Quashie and her week old gossip to Queenie, as nothing happen since then, so what to do?
Taxi drivers doze in afternoon heat, lunch weighing heavy under almond trees.
Restaurant workers meditate on stillness, their only customers shooed and flapped with hand and cloth with an
The Artist
EpistolaryThe internet connection agent needed my information ASAP, so in a manic panic I opened the draw in Granddad’s old desk and rifled through the flotsam of old theatre tickets, technological bibles written in Japanese, images of younger times and fortune-telling runes.Epistolary
In the bottom of the drawer, folded neatly in two: a forgotten letter from my dead granny.
“My dearest” she once wrote in her sightless scrawl “i cant see to read back and correct so is life hon”
I smile at her optimistic resignation a
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my blog: [link]
[link]
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my blog: [link]
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[link]
what what... in the butt butt
that is hilarious...
the chocolate heart at the beginning is priceless...
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my blog: [link]
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my blog: [link]
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[link]
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