I sat down in the middle of the road and laid back, resting my head against the cracked asphalt. My limbs extended as far as they could, reaching for nothing from every angle. If it had been snowing you might think I was making an angel. But the ground was hot and dry, and I didn't believe in angels. I felt more like a starfish; dead, desiccated and left to wither into ash beneath the mid-day sun.

An excerpt from my novel, "Halfway Down."

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