Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

I had that dream again. The crescendo heard a world away – Mackie awoke to the sound. Sweat – cold? – slicked his body. Beside him, Angel – who slept soundly even during the loudest storms – traversed parallel dimensions. Cobey should’ve called by now. Autumn was in the distance, Mackie saw looking out the painted window. …

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