I always hated Fort Bridger. The way they draped the flag over the Johnson family general store shopfront sign didn’t sit right with me. It felt symbolic–like our own army had invaded and tactically cut off our supply lines, like they did the Indians. The Johnsons were good people. They never charged more than a
James lay lengthways on the small brown couch in the middle of his tiny studio apartment, his head propped up by the armrest. He thought to himself as he stared at the ceiling. His eyes focused on the imaginary patterns one finds when staring too long at a blank canvas. Noting the ridges and bumps
Thomas Gallagher 