Dust from the stony road coats worn mailboxes like an old afghan tossed on a couch. Why would anyone want to live in a place where you had to take a boat to the store whenever you needed a carton of milk? Worse yet, what would happen in the case of medical emergency?
Reception dies only yards away from the grassy landing by the unspoiled tide. And along with it, hunger and fear. With each step, the sand underfoot becomes blacker.
chasing warm earth