If I hadn’t cried that day at the airport by my flight’s gate with disconcerting openness, the mid-aged lady with the outrageously long acrylic nails and red flannel shirt tied around her waist would not have stared to then excuse herself from staring and amiably point out the mascara goop at the corner of myContinue reading “Long Sentences on Short Flights”
A collection of my writings. A spool of thoughts undone.
Beisan's Burble 