This is new I may yet revise the format.

Past the Wee Hours

The wee hours returned to night. The promise of dawn failed and the sunken, sunk further beyond the reach of time. This was no cocoon, there is anticipation there. This is no cellar where critters scratch at faint shadows for a crumb of food. Smells are gone. Sound so muffled so faint where your thoughts seem like they are yelling. No touch, no fingers or toes no cheek or eyelash. What is this why am I aware? I’m aware-- in my tomb?! Am I ...in my tomb?

Oh God where am I?

...Without Bitcoin!

By Evelyn Mitchell ©2025, 2-4-2025