En Route

Well. Looks like it is time yet again that I have one of those bouts.

Here we go, knife in hand, cloak on head, into the shadows and the shaw winds.

And there the song goes again in that abandoned house in the middle of a sandstorm in the yellow-orange desert, playing on a old radio on a wound tape, drawing on power it has seemingly saved for such an event, and its weak voice plays on in the roar and surge of the thundering sands of the heat-melted hut.

-Cap'n Mook