Punchings Of A Closed Fist

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Crossroad

The train pulled out of the station, leaving me behind as I slugged the rest of the whisky back, picking up my bag in one hand and the guitar case in the other. Walking out, off of the platform, down the steps to the small dirt road that ran alongside the train tracks before diverging from it and forking off from the rails.

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