Christopher Singer

Journey In

The air was grey. Dark and thick. Debris caked like flour on the handkerchief. Brown. He pondered the contrast and inhaled hard to find air. Not enough. He wrestled with the knot, glancing over both shoulders at his surroundings. He removed the faded bandana and shook it towards the ground. Holding his coveted breath he watched the smoke-like cloud he created. So fine, the wind carried it like a dust devil. “Surely that provides little protection,” he thought.