Cerulean Stories: The Rhythm of the Western Wind

The rhythm of the western wind was caught somewhere between a cigarette kiss and dangerous habits. Who knew that when the man said he would pay he would do it in sessions of backhands and saliva?

There was a troubled sound in the way his leather shoes would kill the ground beneath him. He sure was a looker. I always thought he’d look his best 6ft under the same ground he destroyed.

-NL