1.3.2
While playing with her food, she flinched as sunlight caught silver through the kitchen window, spraying the light into her eyes.
Taking a break
on a bench in the vacant directories, doing some light reading. I went central when something piqued my sour cravings. I walked the along grid searching for aquatic sound crystals. Our interspatial shoreline is a little like life, lovely and ambiguous.
1.3.1
The spoon hugged the bottom of the bowl as the limp custard lapped over its metallic boundary lines, the clearings drawn out in the bottom of the bowl overtaken by slow melting waves, repeatedly.
1.2.24
Love, he thought, restarting his accounting in the silent pleasure of a private humor—nothing like money.
Engelwood | Pastel Beach
I took a friend out to the camp. We loitered lazily, window shopping. Can you imagine a shore where pink orange beach smears into the setting sun? A cool autumn evening dresses up the loungers in light sweaters and members only jackets, warm, cool, and all crayon-colored. As the sun turns over the horizon, the
Engelwood | Pastel Beach Read More »
1.2.23
That scent, lingering, hid in the chambers beneath his face before being displaced by the stale stench of the green ink bled out by a thousand hands, a cologne sample on the counter, and then she returned for a moment, like nimbus on the air, passing.
1.2.22
But the petals firmed for a final eulogic gaze and fell, still and stoic, across the stained concrete floor flecked with the reflection of strung lights, constellations in the tin-encrusted sky.