Common Ground

A cramped space this. I need to stretch, feel the earth under my feet. A little less talk and a little more quiet. Thriving in closed spaces, you’ve mastered the art of contorting yourself, being stashed away. The air is mine own. My mind lifts off- a sailboat in flight, the air my water, the …

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Celluloid Eyrie

Murthy’s shadow loomed on the white sheet that stretched pole to pole at the little ‘hall’ with tin sheets for a roof. A little better than an oven when the weather was pleasant and a lot worse than a sieve on rainy days, its only claim to grandeur was a statue of a rather pompous …

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