The Bald Nomad
Everything is fragile. Including me, it seems.
When you’re travelling, no one wants to hear you’re depressed.
So close, yet so far.
The first stop was the hospital.
The party explodes from the darkness like a joyous firework filled with food and music.
…is colder than LA in the winter.
London grew in fits and starts, bound for a millennia by the slow crawl of humanity.
I fled 1770, days late and angry, a little after 1 in the morning.