“The painter?” asked Bruce. “He’s dead.”
From East Hell Blvd. by me
“The painter?” asked Bruce. “He’s dead.”
From East Hell Blvd. by me
Libby awoke each sunrise to the realization that she was born to play at the lake. She met each day with unbridled playfulness and a rhythm that beat as one with her heart and the nature around her. She swore, like her idol Peter Pan, she would never grow up.
Libby awoke each sunrise to the realization that she was born to play at the lake. She met each day with unbridled playfulness and a rhythm that beat as one with her heart and the nature around her. She swore, like her idol Peter Pan, she would never grow up.