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marktwentythree.bsky.social
@marktwentythree.bsky.social
22 followers 3 following 130 posts
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marktwentythree.bsky.social
December 5, 2025 at 11:57 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
I have an idea
November 24, 2025 at 9:20 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Tiggy
November 20, 2025 at 12:10 AM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Roadside Beef Stand
November 19, 2025 at 11:21 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Visually Related Images
November 19, 2025 at 11:19 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
November 19, 2025 at 11:17 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Old Connie
November 19, 2025 at 11:14 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Where is this?
November 19, 2025 at 11:13 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Heavy Metal
November 19, 2025 at 11:13 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Second Mondays Are Like
November 18, 2025 at 3:13 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
November 14, 2025 at 12:56 AM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
The Stranger
“The Stranger” No one liked him. Not the baker, who said the man’s presence made his bread rise uneven. Not the preacher, who muttered prayers whenever the stranger’s shadow crossed the chapel steps. Not even the children, who swore their toys broke when he passed. He was too pale — as if sunlight refused to touch him. His long black coat seemed woven from old night, frayed yet dignified. His voice was low and calm, the kind of calm that frightened people who lived by noise and chatter. Everywhere he went, sickness followed. A cow would fall ill, a neighbor wouldn’t wake, a candle would go out before dawn. When old Mrs. Hanley died the same evening she sold him bread, the town called it proof. When the doctor vanished after tending to him, they called it fate. So they hated him. They spat when he walked by, crossed the road, and locked their doors. Yet he never shouted, never cursed them back. He only tipped his hat, as if apologizing for something he couldn’t help. One bitter winter night, the mayor fell ill. The stranger appeared at his bedside, silent and uninvited. The mayor’s voice trembled. “Why must you take us?” he whispered. The stranger looked weary. “Because,” he said gently, “no one else will.” When he left, the air grew still. The snow stopped falling. The night felt lighter somehow, though none could say why. In the morning, the mayor was gone — peaceful at last. They would tell stories about the cursed man for years after. None realized he had never been cruel. The stranger was simply Death, doing his work — patient, quiet, and always on time. .
November 6, 2025 at 10:50 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 26, 2025 at 1:20 AM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 26, 2025 at 1:18 AM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
I really hope they tore that wing down looking for the Epstein files
October 23, 2025 at 11:49 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 15, 2025 at 8:14 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 11, 2025 at 8:58 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 11, 2025 at 8:56 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 11, 2025 at 8:55 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 11, 2025 at 8:54 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 10, 2025 at 10:06 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
October 4, 2025 at 9:59 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Fastest Place on Earth
September 30, 2025 at 10:05 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
DEVILS KITCHEN UT
September 30, 2025 at 9:34 PM
marktwentythree.bsky.social
Hummingbirds
September 30, 2025 at 9:33 PM