IPIRs Anonymous. Rush Writing My First Memory.
Tent in the Desert

Move On

image from www.jburdimages.com

Sometimes stories are masks that make it possible to continue breathing.  What happens when you pull yours away?

Who survives his own story?

(More on this when I can get my wits about me to tell it...  The subject of this story still sends me under the covers, huddled in the fetal position and sucking my thumb.)