He liked to spin his grandfather's old globe, slapping it until it reached blurring speeds. And then, a sharp poke to bring it to a halt. Wherever his finger landed, there he would wonder what the people being crushed by his pointer were like. How did they dress? What do they eat?
What do they call their parents?
What music do they listen to?
Oops, water.
That country isn't there anymore.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
1 comment:
your last lines...they pull at me.
Post a Comment