The sun tears through the tent, the light ricocheting off the orange flaps, and my eyelids are blinded by multi-colored stripes. I yawn, stirring. My companion is awake, stiff and motionless from the discomfort of a cool night. There were no blankets, no soft pillow, none of those things we treat as a need whenContinue reading “Postcard #26: Boston Tea Party”
Postcards From Myself 