“You don’t even know,” he whispered, “I have the heart of a lion.”
Category Archives: The changing seasons
The Bus
Riding the bus, out of love and the women beside me smells boozy. Five thirty in the afternoon and already the darkness.
“You don’t even know,” he whispered, “I have the heart of a lion.”
Riding the bus, out of love and the women beside me smells boozy. Five thirty in the afternoon and already the darkness.