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CHILLA RANCHThe last mile was all dust and gold. The sedan dropped into second without anyone asking it to—the transmission knew this road the way a dog knows the path to the barn. Gravel popped under the tires like small bones deciding to be kind. On the right, a pond held the whole sky and refused to blink. On the left, black cattle stood in their own shadows and watched the car the way furniture...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 902 Просмотры 0 Отзывы1
© 2026 Jimmy Chilla | Electro Musician, Fantasy Author & Ontological Scientist
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