Sunday, March 10, 2024

So, human thingy, you strapped yourself into the Zero-9-toilet activated suction mechanism, and ended up here? Whatchoo want from me?

 

Saturday, March 9, 2024


 


 


 


 

Harbor lights, calling it a lovely evening over the raucous cry of sea gulls as they swoop down for bits of fish tossed by the moored fishing boat cleaning the catch of the day. Soon the chill of evening will remind all twilight has arrived, time to go home and enjoy a steaming cup of hot chowder.

We are nothing but space dust trying to find its way back to the stars.