The Dream Highway

The dream highway ran the narrow strip between the surf and the forest, and we drove alongside a ditch with its invasion of elephantine, doe-eyed marine

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The Tulpa

I spent 1917 in a series of anonymous seaside cottages, bunking with proper socialites so that I might press their gowns and wash their teacups.  The daughters

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1897 painting of a female vampire hovering over a man's bed. It's not looking good for the guy.