The wet concrete crunches slightly under the force of John's powerful walk, and the wind whips his hair in several directions, unsure of where to settle. The neon Vegas lights fizz softly, and the occasional car drives by, usually taxi cabs. The hour is quite late, and most people have retired to the land of …
What I had with John was a thunderstorm. It was full of lightening and wind and drama and passion.
The Jarlena Journal 