Portable micro homes offer the freedom of a nomadic lifestyle to those who would rather cut down their carbon footprint than pay down their mortgage.
The good news was, it looked like it was healing. Nina let it get some morning air and light while she said her prayers and moved her fingertips in the soil. She continued to try and see herself as an adventurer rather than someone lost and wounded. If she ever made it back to her home or to other people, perhaps she could then confess her terror. She could show the scars and talk of them the way some speak of tattoos. She could admit the pain.and fear because it would be behind her…not as it was now… in her face and threatening her life. Her open wound was fragile and made her nervous. She wanted it to become a scar, and to be a source of story…but she feared daily that it would be something an animal found and used as a way to get to her insides. Or something a coroner would examine and make notes about. It might just end up being something that thisedical examiner thought about on his car ride home. Fast food restaurants and dry cleaners to his left and right, and a woman who had really never been afraid like Nina was, waiting for him at home. #nightwalk
|—||Alex Grey (via evesapples)|
Helen sat in the booth alone. The Diner was what every Diner should be. A place filled with people from no place in particular who seemed familiar in ways Helen could not describe. The waitresses wore lipstick colors from comic books and the tiled floor had wear marks that looped around the tables and booths. Helen drank her iced tea and ate her french fries while she listened to the couple in the booth behind her. They were older than Helen, their voices told her so. And their words. It seemed they had met online and were now looking at eachother face to face for the first time. He asked her where she was when Kennedy was assassinated. Helen thought about her own answer. She was somewhere else. Parts of her in her mother, parts in her father, not yet joined. Maybe space. Maybe Heaven. Maybe another body where she had a life unlike her own now. Helen pictured herself as a man who worked in a factory and wore coveralls. He loved his wife and missed his grown children. He loved to build things from wood in his garage and believed that his dead parents were proud of him. He missed them when Kennedy was killed but was glad they avoided the sorrow. Helen ate her fries and thought about being a man and wondered if, in a past life, she could fix her own car and not wait in a Diner while other men repaired her radiator. #nightwalk