hanging from the Pit River bridge; he liked heights. It was not the hours huddled over drinks at the nearest bar. Nor was it the asbestos blankets that shrouded his lungs. And yet, his grin…
Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
hanging from the Pit River bridge; he liked heights. It was not the hours huddled over drinks at the nearest bar. Nor was it the asbestos blankets that shrouded his lungs. And yet, his grin…