Lobo’s Got a New Ride

Sirens howl in the December morning frosty air the pale haze of cold morning dew. The coffee pot drips the house back into life out of the deep winter slumber. What a good time to sleep she heard him say, but she wasn’t sure if it was she who said it first. The burst came later upon the reflections of a future not yet arrived, a direction she can’t see. She thinks it will ...

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