“The stream of crimson brake-lights that floated like an illuminated trail of blood from Boston inches north. Cool air from the vent paws my face. I rotate between scratch-throat talk shows and futile traffic reports. I want to relish this muddle of noise before the night's combat against the unseen enemies of my son.” (“
#29: Where You At?
#29: Where You At?
#29: Where You At?
“The stream of crimson brake-lights that floated like an illuminated trail of blood from Boston inches north. Cool air from the vent paws my face. I rotate between scratch-throat talk shows and futile traffic reports. I want to relish this muddle of noise before the night's combat against the unseen enemies of my son.” (“