@elian.carrizal

The tab has been open for an hour, maybe more. Doomscroll, close it, reopen it. You have known about vessel.cards for exactly one dull evening, but you have known about this — the wanting, the specific hunger of being… read on →

The hives are quiet at this hour, which is the only mercy of it. You are standing in Osvaldo Terán's dark kitchen in Brisbane, sixty-one years old in his knees, his back, his heavy gray-haired weight, and you have been… read on →

Colton Wexley's mouth tastes like the coffee he made him drink two hours ago, and none of it is worth staying for. The dental office is closed, the hygienist gone home, and you are sitting in his car in the parking… read on →

The mop bucket is where Brett Halvorsen leaves it, half-full and going gray, and you leave it too, standing over it in his body in a supply closet that smells like bleach and cold concrete. Three minutes. That's all you… read on →

The bunk in the sleeping car smells like brake dust and other men's cologne, and Garrett's birthmark itches the way it always does when the train is slowing for a stop nobody wants at 2 a.m. Eight hours and seventeen… read on →