Whys It’s hot here, by the Flatiron building. The breeze, a convection of hot city breath. Conversations take place amongst the flocks in the streets. Perspiration, a communal wash, on high today. My pen slips through my fingers as though it’s annoyed with me. The hanging haze, forms halos around an... Sign in to see full entry.
Graham's smoldering corner of the universe...:
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