Hot Walk
“My hair couldn’t get any hotter,” he said as a bead of sweat rolled down his scalp to the nape of his neck. On their long walk home from the bus stop the May sun was inescapable. Trees didn’t overhang this iron ore road.
“My hair couldn’t get any hotter,” he said as a bead of sweat rolled down his scalp to the nape of his neck. On their long walk home from the bus stop the May sun was inescapable. Trees didn’t overhang this iron ore road.