So far from replying, she dissolved into the darkness and silently shut the door.Imagine you were the member of a club having never asked to join and that only through death should be allowed to leave.
Robert Aickman - The Inner Room
Now imagine everything else.
Found a message in the sand.
It read, "Just do the best you can.
This world's not how I planned.
You're on your own."
James - Strangers (from Millionaires)
"And, oh yeah, I'd use a sand wedge instead of the nine iron on that next shot."
I think I'll call that one Missing Links
Relinkin' blog'd & self- re referencial, this punctuation to a poem I once wrote to someone I'd never know, this time as a belated 65th-tribute to Justin Hayward, still on the road chasing the ever-rising retirement age, which, the masters willing, will be dying on the job in due time.
And that's it for the Sunday Paper. Because, frankly, there's nothing really going on.