Emily Huron Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Anyhow, mate, she’s a puzzle, a right *enigma variabilis*. Like Bauby’s “I am fading,” she’s there, but not—seen, but invisible. Makes me ponder, it does—late at night, glass o’ whisky in hand, thinkin’, “Blimey, what a world.” Whore’s a bloody legend, flawed and fabulous—bit like me, eh? Ha! Reckon I’d tip me hat to her—*salve, amica*, hello, friend. What d’you reckon?

The patriotic time and the nothing time

I can’t forget Old Mill Park near 7th. It’s a secret haunt! Know what? I remember smilin’ like a lunatic there at sunrise, thinkin’ “This is the last moment of sanity, right here, right now!” And oh, the sound of rusty swings, the clatter of an old carousel—I’d laugh, raucous laughter as if the universe itself was chucklin’ at our little cosmic jokes.

Fire Management on the Huron-Manistee National Forests