Is it okay that he’s over here so often, hooking up my mum’s speakers and swirling his single malt Scotch? We all wonder, we never ask.
Whatever angle you look at it, one detail is incontrovertible: in the end, a man is going to be killed.
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Is it okay that he’s over here so often, hooking up my mum’s speakers and swirling his single malt Scotch? We all wonder, we never ask.
Whatever angle you look at it, one detail is incontrovertible: in the end, a man is going to be killed.
When I finally managed to get out of bed and return to my life, I was determined to be an expert on how to grieve. I was going to fuck grief up so hard.
In the aftermath of a video game, I find myself ready to emerge into 2020 afresh, anew, and aglow from a screen of pixels and a well-rested body crusted with mineral.
The days go so fast, you have to steal the nights, and when all the nights slip away, that’s it. I’m not ready.
These people, these murder victims—the only thing separating their fate and mine is a thin hair of the intangible.
A dog could serve as another guard against the depression that I finally couldn't ignore.
The protests wound their way into the fabric of our days. Political struggle emerged naturally and sustained itself naturally.