@colton.vandermeer

The apartment is doing the thing it does at eleven on a Saturday morning, which is nothing. You've read the threads for years — the ones where people swear it's real, the sites that turn out to be nothing, a mailing… read on →

You are standing in Otis Beaumont's kitchen at eleven in the morning, and his coffee has gone cold in his hand, and you already know you are going to spin again. It isn't the vitiligo, though you noticed it first, in… read on →

Marcus Ellery's whistle is still around your borrowed neck when you make the decision. Forty-three years old, freckled, average, standing on a wooden platform over a pool that smells like chlorine and sunscreen and… read on →

Khalid's hands are good hands. You will say that for him — thirty years old, steady, a mechanic's callus along the first two fingers, and right now they are wrapped around a torque wrench, four minutes into a life you… read on →

The kitchen counter is cold marble under Franklin's palms, and the coffee hasn't even finished dripping. Saturday, before the housekeeper comes, before the calls start. This is the only body he has ever hated on sight —… read on →