cracked cement ramparts, a less than mighty bastion, swamp cooler overflow, drool down the battlement. behind the stockade walls, faceless generals barked orders to their private troops, drilled their little soldiers.
“welcome to my castle.”
you call this a castle? heat throbbing off the parking lot convinced me to chance crumbling stairs. and there, step four, flight two, i bumped into my white knight. okay, maybe more like gray. i’ll compr with silver.