The clouds pass through town. The towers of steel and glass protruding from the ground like fingers reaching out from the grave.
I hear the tears of the mourners for this hour. They miss what was never there.
Categories: writing
jasonwhitaker29171
Please consider the Following:
https://crowdrise.com/dashboard/fjasonwhitaker/videoproductionequipment
https://www.linkedin.com/in/jason-whitaker-6234b87
https://teespring.com/stores/f-jason-whitaker-photography
http://patreon.com/jason29171
Podcast: https://anchor.fm/f-jason-whitaker
https://www.fjasonphoto.com/
https://fjasonwhitakerwriter.com/