reporter, blogger, songwriter, cat toy.



A rare popcorn day, on the heels of a gas up and a doubling back with not enough time for coffee, before hours within the grasslands of Oklahoma, with detours for Fort Worth, Washington, D.C. and the next life, not counting the endless all too early dispatched. No Goncharov, but still deserving.

A small digital sign mounted to a drop tile ceiling in a multiplex hallway shows the number 15 for the theater, the words Killers of, and the time of 3:05 p.m.




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