Oh, the feel of it. The touch. So crisp, so smooth, so fresh. The nouveau riche and their money are easily parted. So easy these days. Not like grandpa's day. Old money then. Grandpa had some good stories though. The best, and they only hit fat cats, as grandpa called them. Fat cats.
Ochre Idyls
Poems, Haiku/Tanka, Short Fictions