imagination
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There is a strange kind of silence that only writers hear. It doesn’t sound like silence at all. It sounds like an empty room where people were laughing five minutes ago. I never thought I would run out of things to say. Writers joke about writer’s block the way fishermen joke about rain. It exists.…
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The carnival had closed hours ago. The lights still blinked. The music still echoed from speakers no one had bothered to shut off. Popcorn drifted across cracked pavement. Prize booths sat full of stuffed animals that no one had won. The mirrors inside the funhouse reflected empty walkways. Yet one attraction somehow still had a…
