Life is a series fragments. Minutes spent in the time between stations, observing the fluid, human experience. A moment captured in hands, relaxed yet on guard—protecting valuables and secrets.
You may also like
The unemotional revolver staring at my head throbs in perfect rhythm with the frightened finger on the trigger and the blood pumping […]
He held stiff to the wheel. Hands clenched at 10 and 2. Concentrating. He knew the toaster wasn’t good in the wind. […]
