Museum of Idiosyncrasy (18+)
Time in the silences between the rush and the has-been. I'll take you there. I'll be the warm hand in yours trying to show you the way
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She says, unconvinced.


I think about him sometimes, in the middle of August. On a streetcar. On my way to nowhere in particular. Or on my home home from someone else’s bedroom. And it always starts small, like when you turn your heat on for the first time sometime in November. I can hear the…


Just found this. I shall file this under ‘writing Clara approves of’ x x x X x


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