Oil and Pencil on Canvass. Wooden clothespins.
"...it was my morning of rain-washed lanes, but I was not about to grab a coat just yet. I held on to pencils and rage inundated my room, much as i loathed cats. Cats in my dreams. I can still taste the bile that I spewed out on the hospital floor, and my stomach still churns as i remember the tubes that woke me. It won't be long now. This fear should be written. I will walk on cleaner ground, and only the taste of air from firetrees shall feed me..."
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