sharpened screams doth peirce my mind, and leave me for the wolves to find, out in the snow packed forest ground, bleed endlessly, without a sound.
Tag: aspersions
The Sandwich Salesman
Call me Arthur. My parents did and, rightly or wrongly, it has stuck since then. My mother was born in London in Nineteen Fifty-Three, my father, elsewhere and at a later date. People will tell you that to make it in a place like Melbourne, you need to be at least one of three things:… Continue reading The Sandwich Salesman