The guy across the road from Daniel’s killed himself last week. He was young, maybe in his thirties. Young children Young wife And he was angry.
He was hot, dirty and bloody and barrelling back to his camp, Leaving a battalion of fresh young boys behind him, they weren’t moving anymore. He had murder in his eyes and fire in his breath as he searched for a man soon to have appreciation for the consequences of his decisions, In a tropical paradise, de-evolved.
A meditation on the simplest and most painful journey of my fathers looming mortality
Sunday morning It's not looking good Daddy's getting worse, they don't know what's wrong... I have to hop a plane flying out in the morning, kids crying and me... crying for the lack of them, anxious for the lack of him. Someone near me farting on the plane, fourteen hour flight. Good lord really? Really … Continue reading Waiting for the when