J. Michael Ward

PHP Developer, Board Game Aficianado, and Donut Snob

Dunce tripe.

Tarnished tarmac, wind beneath the floorboards, and irreverent eccentrics dancing in the shadows like the campfire moonlight. Across the lake, I make out a pair of eyes; we make out in paradise.

Negligent barbers clip away, snip snip snip, and my head is barren with a shoulder-length phantom style.

“You look radiant tonight,” I said.

I flex and huff and make quite the commotion while you fixate on something off in the distance. It’s some kind of peace and tranquility, and I notice it once we walk there together. I didn’t mean to be so dense.