Sounds like you've taken over the apartment hunt and are working at it, Bob. I hope you've found someplace to live or at least something available soon. It freaked me out last week that the two of you were just drifting around not knowing if you had a place to sleep.
Stormy weather flung waves up onto the dark ironshore. Rocks that looked like frozen sponge filtered the water so that it gurgled and hissed on its way back out to sea, only to be flung back again to shred itself once more. The wind used its muscle to bear down on the drops that leapt from the rocks splatting them on the patches of orange and green algae that dotted the jagged shoreline. Jack watched the spray leap upward thrust high by the ocean's force and wondered how he could get out of the tangle of Manning's deal and save some face. A pile of cigarette butts smoked right down to the filter grew on the ground below the open car window.
I discovered last night that it's difficult to instantly shift gears from prose to poetry or vice versa. So forgive me if my prose is too poetic and I'll apologize to the poetry people if my verse is too prosy.
--Barbara
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