It was a film noir, bluesy midnight in November when it all began. As wet with possibilities as the rain-slick streets, traces of perfumes lingering, taxis heading to the hotspots that would combat the chill of solitude and looming winter, ghosts of the storied past lurking beneath the copper spires of that haunted hunting ground of mine, the fast, feminine 4/4 click-clack tattoo of my high-heeled boots on the pavement, in the town where I was born. Copenhagen.
I prowled for my…Continue
Added by Sheila Eggenberger on July 19, 2012 at 1:52pm — No Comments
Added by Flash Silvermoon on November 11, 2009 at 11:36am — No Comments