From X-Peri

ANTON CHEKHOV SHORT STORY POEM

A car runs on desire. Don’t
let them tell you otherwise. When
you have the slightest memory, which
fits into your head like an oyster in
its shell, don’t expect much more.
And the people you meet fit
neatly into two categories. Some are
ripe and some are green as June.

© Larry Sawyer 2016