According to history: chpt. four.

A day at the South Street seaport.

Short story on Jugglers.

You don’t know what you have got until it is gone.

The beauty of a secretary bird.

My epic journey in learning the ways of the juggler.

Recollecting my childhood days.

I was in between a dream and reality, and I didn’t know which was which. The voice was one of a radio DJ cutting through the treble sounding speakers of my radio alarm clock. I felt the cold and I could smell the damp. When my eyes opened fully, I was staring at the base of a dining table and had to come to terms with the fact that I was lying on the floor of a static caravan in a sleeping bag.