I come to you from a suspicious place of bright and warmth amidst a sea of lashing rain and skies of battleship grey (which is not a great colour to paint your walls.) Perhaps it might even be the last hurrah of summer before autumn finally trundles into town. But then again the weather is nothing if not contrary and fickle, it is an unpredictable beast, almost as if it is caused by the interaction of a complex series of ever-changing factors. That of course is ridiculous. Everyone knows that weather is caused by the wizard who lives atop your nearest mountain.
But as ever, I digress. I digress like unto a boss whose sole and single purview in life is and will always be digressing. To the matter at hand: Short stories. Short stories about a Junk Yard, based on the work of Kali Ciesemier.