the monochrom history of everything - archived project
A Micro Graphic Novel Project
 « FIRST  « PREV  item: 32 of 202  NEXT »  LAST »   List all stories
chips
By erin blakemore
http://www.livejournal.com/users/onlyemarie
The gloves were rough against my fingers.
Sawed-off wood smells like friction and future fires.
The bark crackled down beneath me.
Potato chips would go good with my wood chips some evening.
List all stories