VISCERAL VINDALOO

Stories with a horse, ghosts, depression, alcohol, houses

Falling

visceralvindaloo@wordpress.com

The acorns have stopped bombing the ground and humidity clings around trees like plastic wrap. No breeze-silent-but the dog’s ears flap to the speed of his gallop as he trolls the woods. A line of spiders and ants cross my path hurridly; their days numbered and a piliated wood pecker cuts the sky with a …

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