Broken Homes
It’s not easy avoiding them, on a dark path, in the early morning. Try in vain, the lack of light, but it all ends in tears. Hidden shapes or curled up leaves? One cannot tell as you trudge to the garage, to get your bike for the early train to London, knowing that soon the
Spark and Flint
I don’t put faulty Zippo’s in the post for maintenance or repairs. Once damaged, they are kept in a small wooden box in my study. This reminds me of the trauma that each of them endured across the years; each bang and scrape and hurt. Like dropping them on isolated runways in Angola, or smashing them