From the Fire into the Rubberpan

Sat, 11 Oct 2014 00:00:00 +0000

The Wheelbarrow

The street lights in the evening fog blotched the avenue like dancing fantoms; in the awkward silence, the muffled echo of her heels on the sidewalk caused her to believe that she was followed. She would not stop nor turn no matter what; she hurried. She was terrified by a presence, lurking in the shadows that followed her every move. In the distance, she then noticed a person walking toward her; he was just three lights ahead, about two hundred yards.

Sean Ingham on Gromet's Plaza Archive

From the Fire into the Rubberpan