John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. The young man had knocked over the siphon. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. I have broken from prison, and am come to save you. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall.
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This video was uploaded to lewoagencies.com on 06-07-2024 12:04:28
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