funk to funky

Ashes. The end of what once was. The proof of what used to be. Whether tapped from the slender end of a cigarette or dashed mournfully across a wide, blue ocean, ashes are the
  remnant of a fire long gone. Ashes are often clung dearly to, placed in urns that rival shrines. Or dumped carelessly outside, along with butts and nicotine smears. Or used to cross foreheads and hands of the faithful world wide. They even have their own Wednesday. Do you have your own Wednesday?

MF
ickle.org

about »
submit »
archive »