T 4826

By Arjun Basu | Published: October 2, 2011
The memory of it fell on him like a cartoon anvil. She stood and watched his face lose its color. When he spoke he sounded like an accordion.
This entry was posted in Twisters. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

*
*