Search Engine
The End
PJ Vogt
Nansen and I dissimilar in probably any discernible way. He, a chiseled blonde adventurer, braving an unexplored expanse in a wool jacket. Me, 150 years later, visiting with my preferred asthma inhaler. Except, I swear to God, I can feel that same tug towards death that pulls through his writing. Self-destruction. Out here, it was like the call was coming from the landscape itself.
0
💬
0
Comments
Log in to comment.
There are no comments yet.