Suicidal Solitariness

It is an afternoon when the Golden Gate Bridge is swirling with sea mist, hiding the tops of the towers, north, and south.

It had been a turbulent flight from London into San Francisco International; the plane kept from approaching the gate for almost an hour longer. I’m tired and want to get home. It will be another four hours before arriving home in Mendocino, but that isn’t taking into account any traffic congestion along…

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Harry Hogg

Harry Hogg

I was born in London, adopted, lived my youth on an island off the coast of Scotland. Now living between Colorado, Missouri, California. I write to be loved