@owen.prescott

You have the page open and nothing else to do with the night. The house is asleep, the feed has stopped giving you anything, and the wheel sits there in the dark, all its slices lit. You have loved this for as long as… read on →

You are Glenn Hayashi's hands on a kitchen counter in a dark Ohio house, and you have been him for five minutes. The refrigerator hums. His wife's slippers sit by the door, and upstairs a floorboard ticks as the house… read on →

The body I'm wearing hasn't slept in an hour. Caleb Vandermeer, thirty-two, five-six, skinny fat, standing in a stranger's kitchen in Queens with paint dried in the creases of his knuckles. Four minutes in him. I have… read on →

You are standing in Gordon Halvorsen's kitchen in Anchorage, and the window over the sink is still black. The coffee maker ticks. Fifty-five years in the knees, and you have had them five and a half hours. You have been… read on →

You are nineteen and you are tired of it already. Emilio Contreras has a cleft chin that you keep finding with your thumb, and a ledger open on a screen, and a Tuesday morning that will not end. Fourteen minutes.… read on →