In a city of black death, white memoryial cloud clopped to meet me on Broad street. The city ... [+]
In a city of black death, white memoryial cloud clopped to meet me on Broad street. The city ... [+]
It was a wonderfully quiet day at the art gallery. Paintings that were hundreds of years old lined the walls for all to enjoy. It was a wonderfully quiet day until . . . Honk! Everyone in the art ... [+]
They always say the final sense to go is hearing, but touch lasts right 'til the end. Not over the whole body, though; I can't feel Dot's hand in mine, but this fucking diaper itches like blazes. I ... [+]