Chris Beauchamp:
Birds sing, there's not a cloud in the sky
Chris Beauchamp:
August 8th was a beautiful day
Chris Beauchamp:
The air is sweet, the summer flowers bloomin'
Chris Beauchamp:
Nowhere in sight is there anyting grey
Chris Beauchamp:
Yeah, August 8th is a beautiful day
Chris Beauchamp:
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy
Chris Beauchamp:
Knock first
Chris Beauchamp:
Big fish
Chris Beauchamp:
"by a feeling of helplessness."
Chris Beauchamp:
"I realized it was a bone."
Chris Beauchamp:
Namesake
Chris Beauchamp:
When "sweatshops" were just called "factories."
Chris Beauchamp:
A bridge too far
Chris Beauchamp:
Among the elderly
Chris Beauchamp:
Where the buildings grew like flowers
Chris Beauchamp:
Inner glow
Chris Beauchamp:
Places to be, by Laura