Street lights are sparkling. Glory shimmers on the horizon. “Just make it there,” he said. Alive. Sane. Irreparable. Ducking into darkened spaces. Unaware of their eternal harm. A safe place to hide for now. “Just make it there,” now whispered. Through tiny holes in the head. The smell of freedom further on. Only a few more feet … Busted.
M.R. Carter
