Floyd

The sound of rain is like the sound of trains. They haven't faded away for long. Then the sun has returned. I sit along the old rails on freshly felled spruce trunks. I can no longer remember the blues. There is still soft singing in the tracks,...

Gibbons was like a ghost in the boarding school. Even the dust stood still when he entered the room. I don't know if anyone ever looked at him, everyone just stared at the front of the desk. His old knapsack was there. A strange...