An idea is being born. I can feel it twisting out of the soil of my brain, reaching for some related knowledge to cling to like the morning glories outside grasping for an anchor. I don't want to lose it. Think think think.
There is a problem. The stock market crash in 1929. Surplus production puts millions out of work. In my mind and the
(
Read more... )
Comments 3
Reply
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
high fives on the ziplocs.
Reply
Leave a comment