We had emerged from the salt mine with our sense of direction scrambled and our asses still tingling from the world’s oldest wooden slide. Lukas was bleeding from his lip. He wiggled one of his front teeth. It was loose. He pulled it from his mouth and placed it in a folded napkin.
There’s something profoundly humbling about being shoved into a canva…
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.