I won’t ever pretend to be a writer, I may write things, but I am no writer.
My brother on the other hand, he is a writer. He wrote this: Death Rides a Centaur
“You’re lost.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter? You…are…lost.”
“No I’m not.”
“Then why have we just been standing here for 10 minutes?”
“I’m enjoying the view.”
“What view? We’re in the middle of a desert.”
“Sand has a certain aesthetic flare.”
