“Just use your homespun innocence, Sam. Those townies will trust you.”
Samson always felt out of place in the crowded common room of the Last Drink.
“To heal is the noblest purpose.”
As I help the young woman from the parking lot to the diner, I notice a familiar roundness to her cheeks, which are red from the cold.
The runner from the temple finds her scavenging for stray pieces of coal along the tracks outside the railyard.
The Year of the Anabatic Wind was coming to an end.