The wind began to pick up and I shifted my
memories of late yesterdays to early fore comings of today. How would I strive
out here; on my own? How in this decaying world would I find the salvage to
relinquish the modern thought of love, let alone life.
The posters on the blank billboard were torn with
weather. I thumbed through the edges; they were keeping secrets. I managed to
read what was left of a carnival poster hanging in the window. Today. Only
today? I never was very good at reading coincidental signs or their
premonitions, in my thought pattern I just wanted to go and see the show.
S.M. Bjarnson
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