Posted on 20 October 2016
“The soil’s not very good.” he said. She crouched down next to him and shone her torch onto the area where his hands delved into the earth like he was baking bread. It was just past midnight and the street was the black of an iced over lake.
Category: column, short storiesTags: fiction, folded word, gardening, guerilla gardening, samantha priestley, short story, urban
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