calebstacy
There is a lot of wool coming down from the sky today. A lot of the neighbors seems to think it’s some sort of omen, some type of textured position about our place in the universe, or wherever we are. My father reads newspapers and groans about the ‘end of time’, but I think that we cannot stretch out hands so far in the air. We are the end of time, right now, this moment, when we decide that it doesn’t really exist.