The Wind That Blew Like Sleeping Horses

The Wind that Blew like Sleeping Horses
A Short Story
by Jane Doe
Brad Blackman was thinking about Richard Bond again. Richard was a witty author with chubby elbows and fragile eyebrows.
Brad walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always loved quiet Plymouth with its stale, scattered swamps. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel stable.