The moist air is already sticking to your arms at 7:00 AM, the pores in your armpits twitching like a horse in a starting gate.
We opened the door and peered in at what had once been a hub of activity, our old kitchen, all tore up and abandoned.
“How long do you want to live?” Bob asks over a steaming bowl of fried cabbage
We want to believe the human race will persevere, that our survival is part of a grand plan.
There were bees everywhere, bathing in pollen, drinking in the day, doing what bees do: pollinating plants, making food, and perpetuating their families.