Black soot stains the underfoot of the brown boot. Wisps of smoke linger around the ankles. Harsh winds blow against tough denim stretched by legs brimming with muscle. The two seem to scrape one another into a shrill whistle. Each gust takes away particles in chunks until there isn’t a trace left of the ash. Calloused fingers wrapped in a leather glove flick away the matchstick. I can’t stop myself.
from the Journal of Katerina
February 21st, 1885
Inchoate 