Exile, a strange landscape, SouthWestern, desert and razorbacks, with a single paved road rising and falling along the ridge tops. All you want to do is sleep. In town you check your mailbox, still in your robe. Nothing for you, only telephone directories, left there for other tenants.
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© 2002-2012 Mark Phillips.
All rights reserved.
This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.