I don’t care you Taig; I am reblogging this because I want to show the world what kind of asshole you are. You want to call me “racist” over this? But think about what your so called friend said a year ago in the wake of Robin Williams. You want the collected stories of mine — I have the original collection up and readying the second one for it’s re-emergence then looking for photography I’ve done from the era of when I planned Dirty Black Winter to make that available on CreateSpace.com. So think about who you snub Kealan — you are pretending to be hardcore when you’re writing hard — you never jacked a guy in the face with a padlock. Go head I am sure you want to shoot me in the fucking face for calling you a “Taig.”
Somewhere out west there is a town called Milestone. You will not find it on any map. If you’re lucky, you won’t find it at all.
Once a thriving mining community, the few souls who still dwell there know nothing of hope and everything of damnation. Because Milestone may appear near-death, a ghost town in the making, but it is very much alive.
There are the stories of invisible barriers that open and close the borders on a whim, sometimes fatally, the whispers of a man in a top hat who comes cycling up out of the darkness of the abandoned mine to change the fate of the town, the buried music box that summons him, the people with unnatural powers, the old man who counts stacks of pennies and prays they never…
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