The painted face of a clown holds no emotion.

Spite.

Mr. F isn’t a normal man… he’s a spy.

Breaking free from a harmful grip.

So there I am in this groovy cool nightclub in downtown Kowloon, Hong Kong. I am the man.

It tries to break us.

The waves crashed, the whirl winds span, and once apon a time there was a man…

A poet witnesses vehicular suicide.

Why waves smash the shore.