the legs were killed
Early autumn with a red brush over the gardens and foothills. But summer reminded of another hot afternoon. On one of these days, the elder brother stood at the front door with an old shotgun over his shoulder.
– Get ready! Let’s go hunting …
What is there to gather? He pulled on his patched trousers. I put a slingshot in my bosom just in case. Here’s more bread to take … Yes, at home, not a bit Continue reading