Tull just got home from the gig and our keys player (who is an incredible gardener) gave us this harvest from his garden.
What should I do with all of this shit?
She cried daily. In the past, her tears would have been a failed attempt, stifled and restrained. But today, they flowed freely. She wept for humanity, clutching books that once served as shields. Their pages, filled with warnings of doom and the monstrosities of science penned