It wasn’t a swoosh. Even with several inches of freshly fallen snow, I could hear the fight between metal and ice. The ice was winning. I could tell because of the sharp piercing slide. A warning, DANGER AHEAD or in my case, behind.
There is nothing to writing. Just sit down at a typewriter and bleed. Ernest Hemingway
It wasn’t a swoosh. Even with several inches of freshly fallen snow, I could hear the fight between metal and ice. The ice was winning. I could tell because of the sharp piercing slide. A warning, DANGER AHEAD or in my case, behind.