Every day I will write the very beginning of a story, a paragraph or a whole page, without worrying about where it might lead. "Nulla dies sine linea," I hope!
Friday, January 30, 2015
353
The bright orange motorhome appeared in the strip mall's parking lot overnight, and was an object of curiosity in a small town where not much was different. Looking at it closer, it was not solid orange, but rather a pattern of intricate swirls of varying shades that gave the illusion of movement, even when parked. The vehicle under the paint was an old box of a 26-footer, probably from the late 1970s, but any repairs were done thoroughly and smoothly so it looked new. It stayed there, curtains drawn, all day on Wednesday, but towards evening, the entertainers finally emerged to walk the town.
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