Sublime

Blind people hear and taste and smell what other people cannot, and what Ma Taffy smells on this early afternoon makes her sit up straight. She smells it high and ripe and stink on the air, like a bright green jackfruit in season being pulled to the rocky ground below. The smell is coming down John Golding Road right alongside the boy-child, someth

absurdly smoky motsuyaki restaurants,

zelkova tree

On these waters I too will be scattered.