TJ-Amal-Club

He was so gangly and so...white. A chicken, a cackling rooster more often than not. And yet his skin smelt of the desert sun, his locks of tobacco and asphalt. Long miles of dusty roads haunted every glance. How had he remained free? Soaring like a hawk, riding the thermals, trusting instinct and fate in a way that appeared almost masterful. Yearning to merge with the glorious creature, to view the world from such dizzying heights, Amal ignored the voices demanding he tie the jesses and hang on tight. But weren't souls meant to be fettered? -------------------- Amal was the color of coffee with lots of cream and too much sugar. Candy co