All posts in category Short Story

Prose. Somewhere between 1,000 and 15,000 words.

A Train Trip part 3 of 3

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ she said as the tea drenched through her drawings and neared the other end of the table.

‘Hm?’ he turned to her, looked down at the spreading pool of tea. ‘No worries,’ he smiled a dazzling smile that reminded her of her increased heart rate, although it did not quite seem to reach his eyes. He took out a package of Kleenex and used one to soak up most of the tea.

‘It’s more of a shame for you, if these were yours,’ he indicated the now ruined drawings, ‘it looks as if they were rather good.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes,’ he smiled again, ‘have you made any more?’

‘Not as good as those, but,’ she took out some more drawings.

‘You’re really talented,’ he said, ‘aren’t you?’

She blushed appropriately.

They spent some more time looking at drawings. Then he asked her where she was going and she told him.

‘We stopped there about twenty minutes ago,’ he said, ‘I hope you weren’t meeting someone important.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘no one important, I’ll just take the next stop.’

‘Hmm…’ his eyes seemed to glow and for a short moment she saw Dave waiting at the station looking for her.

‘What do you want from life?’ the pale man asked.

‘Oh,’ she shrugged, ‘what does anyone want? A place to call my own, someone to love, you know…’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t know. Tell me.’

‘I want to never grow old,’ she said, ‘I want servants like they had in the old days. And I want everyone to love and adore me.’ She blinked. That was not what she had meant to say. It had not sounded at all pleasant either. ‘I don’t want to seem like an egoist,’ she said.

‘I’m getting off at the next stop,’ he said, ‘come with me.’

‘Isn’t that a bit much,’ she twirled her hair around a finger, ‘I mean, we’ve only just met, and-’

‘This is it,’ he said as the train slowed and rose to his feet.

‘Well, I have to get off anyway,’ she took her bag and followed him to the train door.

‘Come,’ he held out his hand as they stood in front of the door. She swallowed then took it, heart aflutter.

‘You have lied to me,’ he said.

‘I,’ her eyes widened.

‘No worries,’ he showed his gleaming white teeth in another smile, ‘I will forgive you.’ The train door opened to a green wood with a thick carpet of snowdrop anemones and birdsong in the branches. ‘In time.’

And they stepped through.

 

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by W. R. Woolf on February 20, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on February 20, 2013

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/a-train-trip-part-3-of-3/

A Train Trip part 2 of 3

She stared at a small speck in the glass of the window. A tiny impurity. She would have to get his attention. And quickly, if she wanted to talk to him for any length of time. It was a while before her stop came, but not long enough to really get to know someone.

The conductor came by, and she showed him her ticked. The man opposite must have shown his ticket too because the conductor nodded and went on, but she did not remember him actually showing a ticket. However, that was not enough to begin a conversation.

Perhaps he liked drawings? She scooted out from her seat and stretched to reach her bag on the baggage shelf. She stretched a bit more, pretending she had difficulty reaching her bag, but he was still looking out of the window. So in the end, she just took her bag, found her paper and pencils and put the bag back on the shelf with no more feigned difficulty. As she sat down, she looked through her drawings and was pleased to find that she had some of the really good ones of Icelandic horses with her. She put a couple on the plastic table in front of her of horses in mid-tölt, then took a new piece of paper and pretended to sketch something.

Excersize or play?

(Photo credit: Haukur H.)

After a while, she could see that it was not working. What was so interesting about the landscape anyway? Everything was withered or withering at this time of year. Autumn was like decay made visible. She dropped her pencil on the floor.

‘Oops,’ she said and bent down to find it. It had fallen right beside her own foot, damn. She pretended looking for it a while longer, but that did not help. When she sat up, he was still looking out the window.

Then the food cart came by and she got an idea.

‘Anything off the cart?’ said the bony woman pushing the cart.

‘Yes, please,’ she said, ‘do you have any tea with cinnamon?’

‘Nope,’ said the woman, ‘just plain old tea.’

‘Oh, a cup of tea then, please.’

The woman poured lukewarm tea into a cardboard cup, received her money and continued through the carriage.

Plain old tea was not what she had had in mind, she frowned. And the man did not even seem to have heard her asking for cinnamon. She considered throwing the tea into his lap. That should get his attention. Then again, he might just be angry with her the rest of the trip. Perhaps she could do something a little less drastic. It would be a shame about those nice horse drawings, but it was all for a good cause. She put her tea on the table, pretended to reach for a pencil and knocked over the cup.

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by W. R. Woolf on February 15, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on February 15, 2013

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2013/02/15/a-train-trip-part-2-of-3/

A Train Trip part 1 of 3

Yellow trees and brown fields rushed past. She sat with her forehead leaning against the cold window, the motion of the train rocking her, making her sleepy, but not quite enough for her to actually fall asleep. And boredom had set up camp in her mind.

Just as she thought it could not get any worse, a baby began crying a few seats behind her. She closed her eyes. Of course it was nice to see Dave. Every time, it really was, but these train trips were killing her. She sighed. Maybe they should move in together?

Of course that was a rather big step, and perhaps moving in together was not something one should do to avoid long train trips. Then again, they were really boring. Apart from that, living in the same flat would have some advantages. He could do the cooking and most of the cleaning and he could see her pretty face every day. They could wake up together and have a cosy brunch each Saturday. And he could make those cinnamon buns, so tasty she could almost smell them. She sniffed. She could smell them. Or at least, she could smell cinnamon.

She looked up from the window and saw a pale man with a slender figure coming down the aisle. His walk looked completely balanced, like he was walking down the pavement and not through a train which was driving at full speed. As he came nearer in what felt like slow-motion, his hair seemed to wave in a breeze that was not there, and her eyes were drawn to his lips. Red and full they were and they looked ever so soft. Was he the one smelling of cinnamon?

He sat down opposite her, crossed his legs and looked out of the window without deigning her a glance. She pretended that she was looking out the window, but kept studying him out of the corner of her eye. Why did she study him? She was not sure. Usually she found even vaguely feminine men uninteresting, perhaps because she wrote them off as gay. However, this man felt different. With his delicate hands and full lips, he certainly looked more than vaguely feminine, but still there was something luring about him.

Was this one of those ‘love at first sight’ moments that films and books kept talking about? She had never understood those, maybe she was about to. How did they describe it? Attraction for no obvious reason, she had that one. Heart rate increasing every time the protagonist, that would have to be her, looked at the love-interest, and that was him. She concentrated on her heart as she looked at him, yes, her heart did beat faster. Forgetting all else, but the love-interest. It was only then that she remembered the baby; it had never stopped crying.

It was certain then. She was in love.

What now?

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by W. R. Woolf on February 13, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on February 13, 2013

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2013/02/13/a-train-trip-part-1-of-3/

19 Black Out, part 2

‘What’re you playing at?’ I say. He turns to me, still clutching the bird. I notice her sleeve is torn, and a bruise might be forming under one eye.

‘Fuck off,’ he says, ‘it’s got nothing to do with you.’

He might be younger, but I’m wider, and it’s not all fat. Not yet.

‘Let go of her,’ I say.

‘What you gonna do?’ he says.

I punch him in the face. He lets go of her and crumples. I think I broke his nose. He’s bleeding all over the place and whimpering. She leans herself against a wall, still crying.

‘Want me to call the police?’ I ask.

She shakes her head.

‘Want me to call an ambulance?’

She shakes her head.

‘Want me to take you home?’

She nods, slowly. I offer her my arm and she leans against it. She doesn’t seem too steady on her feet, so I put my arm around her as we walk out of the ally.

 

Now the pub is just between the grocery store and my home. And of course, just as we come out onto the main street, I see my wife hurrying along, a bag of groceries in each hand. And I’m thinking… shit. I just know she’s going to misunderstand everything. But what do I do? Let go of the girl and let her fall to the ground? That would make just as bad as the other bloke. But by now it’s too late. She’s seen me. And she’s making a bee-line for me. But when she’s about five meters from me, she freezes. She stares at the girl. She probably noticed the bruises. Then she avoids us and continues her way home in a half trot. Seems we’ll take it when I get home.

 

As the bird guides me the rest of the way to her nest, my mind is racing. How will I make my wife believe me? I say goodbye to the bird at the door.

‘Thanks,’ she whispers before going in.

‘You’re welcome,’ I say.

 

Then I go home. Slowly. I pause in front of my door. I know that she’s in there, fuming. Perhaps if I didn’t come home until tomorrow, she would forget about it? No, I know that would only make her madder. So I go inside.

 

As I take off my boots, I can hear her washing up in the kitchen. I take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen. She is washing up the frying pan. The smell of bacon fat still lingers in the air. I clear my throat. She spins around.

‘There you are!’ her cheeks are flushed. ‘What the hell do you think you were doing with that girl?’ her voice is shrill.

‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ I begin.

‘Did you rape her?’

Her comment slaps me in the face and I take a step back.

‘What?’

‘Don’t you think I saw her?’

‘I didn’t do anything to her,’ I say, ‘it was the young bloke.’

‘What bloke?’

‘The bloke she was with,’ I say, ‘he was being rough to her, so I hit him and helped the girl out of the ally.’

‘And why didn’t you call an ambulance?’

‘The girl said she didn’t want me to.’

‘So now you’re talking to the dead!’ she screams, ‘how stupid do you think I am?’

I blink a couple of times.

‘You’re talking nonsense,’ I say, ‘I’m going to bed.’ I turn my back to her and move towards the door.

‘Murderer!’ she comes up behind me and smashes the frying pan right into the back of my head.

And that’s where I black out.

And when I come to, I can’t find my wife.

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by W. R. Woolf on June 8, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on June 8, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/06/08/19-black-out-part-2/

19 Black Out, part 1

Have you ever blacked out?

I mean completely blacked out?

Because of booze?

Because of some weird illness?

Because your wife hit you on the head with a frying pan?

I have.

The last one.

It hurt like hell.

And I didn’t even deserve it.

 

It begins down at the pub. I am having a few drinks with my mates when in comes this nice little bird. She must have been in her twenties. She goes up to the bar, buys a bottle of sparkly water and sits down in an empty corner.

We stare of course. Women are scarce enough at the pub. And I don’t think I ever saw someone younger than forty. Except her.

So the shock dies down. We continue our drinks. And the bird sits in the corner, not even touching her water.

After about twenty minutes, I glance around the pub and notice that she’s still alone. So I tell the mates that I’ll just go see if she’s all right. And of course they misunderstand me and chuckle into their drinks. Come on, I think, I’m no fool. She’s in her twenties, I’ll be in my fifties in a couple of years. I have a daughter about her age. It’s not as if I thought she wanted to come home with me or anything. And anyway, I could never take her home; I have a wife, remember?

 

Well, I go over in her corner and I ask her:

‘What’s a pretty bird like you doing in a place like this?’

She must have misunderstood me because she gave me this icy look.

‘I’m waiting for someone,’ she said and turned her head away from me.

‘But you’ve been waiting rather long, haven’t you?’ I say.

She shrugs her shoulders.

‘Is it a boyfriend?’ I ask.

‘Will you leave me alone?’ she snaps.

‘All right all right,’ I say, ‘no need to get angry. A nice evening to you.’ I go back to my mates. She stares into the wall.

 

After about another ten to fifteen minutes a bloke comes in. I don’t know him, but I don’t like him. It’s something about his face. His eyes perhaps.

He sits down with the bird, and for a while I get this picture in my head of a bird and a cat sitting on each their side of the table. And him licking his lips. I almost go over there again, but I’m thinking the bird will misunderstand me again.

They sit in the corner for about half an hour, speaking in low voices. Then they leave.

 

I finish my beer and look at the watch. It’s still rather early, but I’m thinking it’s probably time to get home to the missus. She said something about a nice dinner this morning. So I say goodbye to my mates and get going. It’s chilly outside so I put my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders. Then I walk down the road.

When I get close to the next side street, I hear voices. Loud voices. I look down the side street and it’s the bird and the cat. And he’s clutching her arm. And she seems to be crying. And trying to get away. Now that makes me angry. Him getting violent towards the bird like that. So I stride down the street.

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by W. R. Woolf on June 6, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on June 6, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/06/06/19-black-out-part-1/

Moving Forwards part ‘The Last’

‘Nononononono,’ said Rodger as the branch jerked aside. When he looked up again everything looked blurred as if he had water in his eyes. ‘Not now, why now?’

The carabiner was still close, but every time the praying mantis dived he was pulled away from it. He looked down at the Spiral.

‘Stop it!’ he shouted, ‘hold still!’

The Spiral did not hear or did not understand. The branch dodged when the praying mantis came near and then jerked back as if trying to hit it.

Rodger looked up at Frederick who seemed to be pulling out his own hair. There was no time. He stared at the approaching praying mantis. It was worth the risk.

He took the stun gun from his trousers. Aimed. Waited until the praying mantis was within range. He pulled the trigger, just as the branch jerked away.

The thin wire shot from the gun and connected with the praying mantis. The praying mantis fell out of the air like a rock and pain exploded in Rodger’s hand. It raced up his arm and left a complete numbness behind.

As his muscles stiffened, Rodger saw his grip on the branch was slipping. Gravity made him lean backwards gently so he could see the hole in the sky. And Frederick reaching for him. Shouting. Rodger could not hear the words, but he could see his lips moving. Then Rodger was falling. Wind whistling in his ears.

A branch shot out for him and wrapped around his chest. The pain would have made Rodger cry out if he could move; the branch had probably bent one of his ribs. He saw Frederick running in and out of view, probably searching for anything in the machine that might help. Rodger cursed and swore on the inside, but his body was as responsive as a statue.

The hole in the sky flickered. The rope with the carabiner fell to the ground. And then there was nothing above him but the clear blue sky.

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by W. R. Woolf on May 23, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on May 23, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/05/23/moving-forwards-part-the-last/

Moving forwards part 20

Rodger had barely taken his fifth step when he heard a gurgle behind him. He spun around. The Spiral was there head hanging low and the flute in its hand. A few seconds passed before Rodgers brain had fully processed the information.

‘You came back?’ said Rodger.

The Spiral said nothing and looked down at the path.

‘You came back!’ Rodger ran towards it beaming and almost threw his arms around it, but remembered the danger at the last minute and skidded to a halt. ‘I…’ he touched the Spiral’s cheek gently, ‘thank you.’

The Spiral backed away from him quietly and began playing the flute. Only then did it occur to Rodger. The Flute Bearer was nowhere in sight. Had something happened? But he was not able to formulate a question so that the Spiral would understand, and he probably would not understand its reply if he could. So he just walked along beside the tree and the Spiral, keeping their pace and checking his watch every so often.

The tree moved into place beneath the hole with ten minutes to spare. Rodger’s hands shook as he picked up the rope ladder. He could see Frederick sitting up there, but there was no time for greetings.

He rushed back to the tree and hung the rope ladder on the longest branch. Then he turned to the Spiral and gestured upwards wildly. The Spiral had stopped playing when he went to retrieve the rope ladder. Now it was looking at the ground, panting. Rodger moved close and placed his hand gently on the Spiral’s cheek.

‘I know you’ve been playing for hours, but I’m running out of time. Please, just a little while longer.’ And he pointed at Frederick sitting in the hole above them. The Spiral put the flute to its lips.

‘Thank you,’ Rodger jumped into the safety harness, onto the rope ladder and grabbed it tightly, ignoring his complaining muscles. The branches of the tree unfurled towards the sky, the rope ladder was hoisted up and Rodger with it.

The branches were far from long enough to reach the machine, but Frederick seemed to get the point and lowered down their spare rope. With a carabiner at the end.

‘I love you Frederick,’ said Rodger with a smile. When the tree finished uncurling, the carabiner was still dangling about a metre over his head. Rodger moved his stun gun to the back of his trousers before he climbed from the rope ladder onto the branch itself and inched along it until it grew too thin to be safe.  He clung onto the branch with his legs and reached out for the carabiner.

There was a buzz. The branch jerked. Rodger’s face slammed into the branch and blood flowed from his nose. Rodger turned his head. The praying mantis was diving for him.

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by W. R. Woolf on May 18, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on May 18, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/05/18/moving-forwards-part-20-2/

Moving Forwards part 20

Rodger looked at his watch. One and a half hours. He paced back and forth. Looked again. Two hours. They were not coming back.

‘Shit,’ Rodger circled around the tree. What now? He could not possibly reach the hole on his own. ‘Shit,’ he covered his face in his hands.

No, wait. Perhaps he was overreacting. Perhaps they would be back in the morning. Yes, that was more likely. They just did not think that it was necessary with the seaweed. And he really should be grateful that he was not going to be drenched in cold seawater for once. So there was nothing else to do than get some sleep and wait for the morning.

He sat down on his rucksack with his back against the tree. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Shifted his position. Took several more deep breaths. The praying mantis seemed to be attracted by the flute music. No, not just ‘seemed’, the Spiral had made it clear that it was attracted by the flute music. And they had been playing the flute all day.

Who was he kidding? They had left him here to die. And perhaps that was best. In this dimension they just wanted to get rid of him. And in his own dimension no one cared if he was there or not. Except Frederick. Frederick had been… Frederick. Almost like a big brother. Sometimes he had been annoying, but mostly he had been the best friend Rodger had ever had. Frederick would probably blame himself the rest of his life if he came home without Rodger.

That was no good. Rodger rose to his feet. He could not give up without trying. But he had tried. And he had found a way. And the way out had slipped between his fingers. Or thrown a rock at him and gone back to the ocean.

And why had they done that? Because he got a little impatient? He paced up and down the path staring at the place where they had disappeared into the waves. Would they not have done the same in his position? It was not as if he hurt the Spiral. That damned Flute Bearer just overreacted to every little thing. And the Spiral just tagged along.

Had he not saved them both when the praying mantis attacked? They should be thankful. Was a little help to much to ask in return? Ungrateful little bastards. He picked up a stone and threw it into the waves.

‘I hope it knocks you cold!’ he shouted at the sea and tossed another. And one more. He went back to the tree breathing heavily.

He squatted down beside the tree resting one hand on the bark. He could feel a beginning headache. Probably his body telling him he was exhausted. And this shouting and tossing stones was not helping. He settled down with his back against the tree. He had to rest. At least until morning. He checked his watch. At least without them tagging along he should be able to reach the place much faster.

Rodger woke with a start and looked at his watch. But he could just as well have looked at the sky. The sun had only just crept over the horizon revealing a sky completely devoid of clouds. Rodger sighed. Was the weather taunting him as well now? He rummaged through his rucksack. He still had plenty of food left. He tossed a packet of biscuits to the ground. And what did that matter if he did not get back? He massaged his temples. Tossing biscuits did not help either.

After a light breakfast he took one last look at the tree and moved on towards the hole in the sky.

 

————————

Read part one here: http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/moving-forwards-part-1/

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by W. R. Woolf on May 16, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on May 16, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/05/16/moving-forwards-part-20/

Moving Forwards part 19

He marched back to the mermaids. The Flute Bearer was still playing. The Spiral slithered about gurgling and gesturing, sometimes looking into the sky.

‘Please,’ said Rodger, ‘can’t you make it go any faster?’

The Flute Bearer kept playing and the Spiral kept gurgling. Rodger sighed and marched off in front again.

During the day, the mermaids took turns playing their flutes. Rodger walked back and forth numerous times, but no matter how fast he walked in front of the mermaids and the tree, the tree did not move any faster.

When night came and the mermaids insisted on stopping, Rodger checked his watch. The Machine would do the next jump in about 37 hours. If it had just been him, it would be plenty of time, but now he was not so sure.

The next day was torture. As the sun raced across the sky, the tree crept forwards at a snail’s pace. He tried to push the Spiral forwards, but it just gurgled and pointed to the tree, and he did not dare touch the Flute Bearer for fear it might leave. It would probably only take even longer if there was only one mermaid to play. To top it off, all through the day his thigh burned and itched in equal measure.

When the sky grew dark and they stopped playing, Rodger went up close to the Spiral.

‘Look, I’m really grateful for your help,’ he said, trying to figure out how he would mime ‘grateful’, ‘but it’s very important that I get there in time.’ He pointed to his watch. No, they did not have those. He moved his hand across the sky from horizon to horizon. ‘So, please,’ he folded his hands, ‘please can we move on?’ He took he Spiral’s hand and turned to go, but the Spiral pulled its hand back.

‘Please,’ said Rodger.

The Spiral gurgled and pointed to the water.

‘Oh, come on.’ Rodger Grabbed its hand, yanked it forwards. The Spiral fell forwards and pain shot up Rodger’s arm as a stone connected with his elbow.

‘Ouch!’ Rodger let go of the Spiral and cradled his arm. The Flute Bearer slithered past him without looking at him, touched the Spiral on the shoulder and moved towards the water. The Spiral looked from Rodger to the Flute Bearer and turned to follow.

‘No, wait,’ said Rodger. The Spiral looked over its shoulder, but continued into the water.

‘Please!’

The mermaids disappeared beneath the waves. After an hour, they had still not returned with any seaweed.

 

——————————-

Read part one here: http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/moving-forwards-part-1/

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by W. R. Woolf on May 11, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on May 11, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/05/11/moving-forwards-part-19/

Moving Forwards part 18

‘Oh, come on,’ said Rodger. In three strides he was behind the Flute Bearer and snatched the flute from its hand. ‘I won’t let you ruin my only chance.’ He gave the flute back to the Spiral and glared at the Flute Bearer. The Flute Bearer glared back, but did nothing more to stop the Spiral.

The music made all the trees react at once. They uncurled and stretched towards them. Rodger’s heart beat faster. As they went to the path again, Rodger kept an eye on the Flute Bearer. The Flute Bearer ignored him and instead kept glancing into the sky.

When they reached the border between the stones and the earth, they paused to cut the net holding the earth and one of the trees swam out to them. Ever so slowly.

‘Can’t you make it go any faster?’ Rodger pointed at the tree and jerked his hand towards the hole in the sky. The Spiral saw him, but kept playing its slow tune, and the tree continued at the same pace.

‘You could make the branches move quickly,’ Rodger pointed at the tree and reached out in front of him as if trying to catch some invisible insect. ‘Why not the roots?’ He mimed wading through water with slow dragging steps. The Flute Bearer was studying him intently and with… amusement? It made a small chortling sound and gurgled something to the Spiral. The Spiral stopped playing to cover its face in its hands. The spluttering that followed might very well be laughter.

‘Hey,’ said Rodger, ‘stop it!’

The Flute Bearer looked very smug.

‘And you,’ Rodger pointed at the Flute Bearer, ‘I don’t see you trying to make yourself understood.’

The Flute Bearer looked away.

‘Argh, look,’ Rodger stepped in front of the Flute Bearer, ‘It seems what you want most is to get rid of me. So,’ Rodger picked up a small stone, ‘imagine this is me,’ Rodger pointed to himself then the stone, ‘If you get me up there,’ he pointed to the hole in the sky, ‘I’ll be gone,’ he closed his hand around the stone, let it disappear into his jacket sleeve and opened his hand. ‘Gone.’

The Flute Bearer studied his empty hand.

‘Do you get it?’ Rodger flipped his hand over to show there was nothing there. ‘Gone. I’ll be out of your hair.’

The Flute Bearer turned away from him.

‘If you had any hair.’

It slithered closer to the island, cut some more of the net and loosened the earth with its hands. While the Spiral was still laughing, it began to play.

The tree moved a little faster now, but not much. Rodger waited for the tree to reach the stones then strode off in front. When the music seemed to grow distant, he stopped and looked back. The tree was about halfway between him and the island. He put a hand to his forehead. This could not be happening. He finally found life. He finally found help. He finally found the solution to his problem. Was everything going to be ruined just because his ‘solution’ was too slow?

 

———————————

Read part one here: http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/moving-forwards-part-1/

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by W. R. Woolf on May 9, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by W. R. Woolf on May 9, 2012

http://abolg.wordpress.com/2012/05/09/moving-forwards-part-18/

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