Fiction. These FOOTPRINTS IN WET CEMENT are just that: stories some experienced, some homespun, some dredged from the fertile detritus of dreams; impressions gathered and ruminations fermented over the past decade or so the fleeting imprint of a life left to harden in the ephemeral mold of language. Straddling the tenuous borderline between the narrative and the poetic, they are all the product of a pressed aesthetic.
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