Post Image Attribution: Paolo Forlani / Public domain Barkula was late. Jaral spat out his wad of crushed tobacco leaves he’d been chewing waiting for his furry friend. There were no tracks on the fresh, rain-soaked mud nor was there any sign of this particular primate, plain brown fur...
Go! she says! Fine! Go I shall! I’m very good at spinning my wheels in place, satisfying the “go” part of the contract but without always a destination in mind. For, you’ll see in the many posts I hope to write (I’m in “go” mode, after all), I like to question things. Things like...