Twenty-something, a special kind of anachronistic, destructive with beautiful construction.

This is A Place.

A refuge for lost words and wandering phrases. For poetry and prose and those not quite fitting of any sort of label. Here, stories will be told, or else, words will present themselves for query and contemplation. Here, there will be only expression, reflection comes later whilst observing the flight of a bird or the passage of a raindrop down a grimy window. Here, ‘there will be time, there will be time. For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.’

Here, time is but your own.