If he’s stationary, he feels it, like a vibration. Especially out in the streets, where his shoulders are jostled by the crowds of drones flittering back and forth from domiciles to occupations. When not in motion, he’s sinking. The concrete loses its molecular structure and becomes quicksand. Ready and willing to help make him disappear. So he keeps moving, like a shark that needs to move for its next breath. He fears the moment when he becomes weary.
Thom Gabrukiewicz is both a communicator and a writer of flash fiction. Most of what he writes is kind of dark, with occasional forays into the light.
He’s a winner of some awards and has covered two Winter Olympics. He’s also written a guidebook about hiking with dogs.
He’s fiercely loyal and has a malevolent side that seems to visit less and less. He’s both a hopeless romantic and a realist.
He's currently working on community wellness issues in Wyoming.