fictionmingle.livejournal.com
Fiction Mingle
http://fictionmingle.livejournal.com/tag/george%20masters
Photo 100 Words Audio = Fiction Mingle. Entries by tag: george masters. October 7th, 2011. Photo by Amanda Oliveira. Words by George Eyre Masters. Audio by Richard Hawley. Before dawn I listened to the house breathe. From the pillows, came a trace of my ex-wife’s perfume. Outside in a big elm, crows and seagulls argued like drunks leaving a bar. Then they did. Black to grey, the morning developed like a Polaroid. Amanda Oliveira is a photographer living in Brazil. Please visit her gallery.
fictionmingle.livejournal.com
Fiction Mingle
http://fictionmingle.livejournal.com/tag/hawley
Photo 100 Words Audio = Fiction Mingle. Entries by tag: hawley. October 7th, 2011. Photo by Amanda Oliveira. Words by George Eyre Masters. Audio by Richard Hawley. Before dawn I listened to the house breathe. From the pillows, came a trace of my ex-wife’s perfume. Outside in a big elm, crows and seagulls argued like drunks leaving a bar. Then they did. Black to grey, the morning developed like a Polaroid. Amanda Oliveira is a photographer living in Brazil. Please visit her gallery. To browse his albums.
fictionmingle.livejournal.com
Fiction Mingle
http://fictionmingle.livejournal.com/tag/oliveira
Photo 100 Words Audio = Fiction Mingle. Entries by tag: oliveira. October 7th, 2011. Photo by Amanda Oliveira. Words by George Eyre Masters. Audio by Richard Hawley. Before dawn I listened to the house breathe. From the pillows, came a trace of my ex-wife’s perfume. Outside in a big elm, crows and seagulls argued like drunks leaving a bar. Then they did. Black to grey, the morning developed like a Polaroid. Amanda Oliveira is a photographer living in Brazil. Please visit her gallery. To browse his albums.
fictionmingle.livejournal.com
The Last Morning - Fiction Mingle
http://fictionmingle.livejournal.com/15748.html
Photo 100 Words Audio = Fiction Mingle. October 7th, 2011. Photo by Amanda Oliveira. Words by George Eyre Masters. Audio by Richard Hawley. Before dawn I listened to the house breathe. From the pillows, came a trace of my ex-wife’s perfume. Outside in a big elm, crows and seagulls argued like drunks leaving a bar. Then they did. Black to grey, the morning developed like a Polaroid. Making coffee, I went outside and sat. Like a beautiful woman passing by, the smell of autumn and ocean turned my head.