curtis

The well of story's have dried up, the messenger has been shot and there is no way of resuscitation, whatever will happen, disease is spreading faster than vaccines are developed and yet there is hope, hope of survival, hope for miracles, hope for saviours, some dead others alive.
Storms will keep brewing none the less, and those souls who are at the right place at the right time, they will smile radiant white smiles while others look on.
What thoughts course through there minds, thoughts of stoke, thoughts of jealousy, thoughts of......fuck that is a sweet barrel?