“Lucky I was here,” said a voice behind Sam. A familiar voice.
Sam whirled around.
“Mogget? Is that you? Where are you?”
“Here, and regretting it as per usual,” replied Mogget, and a small white cat sauntered put from behind a fern tree.
I dream of lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can.
in third grade this kid got in trouble for saying “be free my niggas” when we released the butterflies