bolhom
utorak, 01.06.2010.
Darryl wasn't in good shape -- he was white-faced and panting.
I cried out and my own voice was muffled by the hood.
I am not young enough to know everything.
I heard them shouting through the muffling canvas of the bag, and then I was being impersonally hauled to my feet by my wrists, my arms wrenched up behind my back, my shoulders screaming.
A moment later, I caught my breath, but I didn't say anything.
Love truth, and pardon error.
On the plus side, death is one of the few things that can be done just as easily lying down.
I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer.
