A Sunday in Author, Ontario
On the shoulders of the main road a procession of Mennonites mournfully advance. Black after black after black. They move along solemnly like a cluster of weary crows.
On the shoulders of the main road a procession of Mennonites mournfully advance. Black after black after black. They move along solemnly like a cluster of weary crows.
“Here’s your new phone.” “It’s looking at me funny!” “That’s probably your own reflection.” “Where are all the buttons?” “It doesn’t have any.” “What kind of witch-magic is this?!” I gave the phone a shake. Nothing happened. Nothing came out. All the witches must still be inside. I shook it harder then stuffed it down […]