... Which means, what? It was a line from a story I wrote many years ago. Something sureal about it. I liked that. Still do. I no longer have the story. Just the line and a fuzzy recollection of a "B Street" and a plant with machinery inside that rattled windows in surounding run down, turn of the century industrial buildings, and the protagonist was always threatening to blast the listener. The fuzzy photograph is a sort of vague memory and not a partucularly valued one at that. At least not by most.
I'm not sure where to go with this Blog.
Stories/photos/drawings? Maybe all.