There is always a limit
Calvin pocketed his hands gazing at his sneakers. “Weed? donnu ma.” Sybil couldn’t believe how quickly her bright-eyed son had transformed into this gangly teenager. Welcome acne, welcome worrying. Gone […]
Tag Archives: weed
While weeding my garden
The way they weave and weed their words around conspiring, eating truth. Does it matter only how a lie is told? Can we only paint the world in black? Have […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 