Half-asleep in Keats’s sedate white car, her fingers trailing the windowframe, Alex watches the city shift gradually into familiarity. The world seems unbearably detailed, textured down to a sanity-defying depth, and she has to fight the urge to order him to pull over and let her count the bricks in a shopfront, or examine the stellate crack ( Read more... )

... listening to "I Will Possess Your Heart" on repeat counts as working on the Horrible Thing if I do it often enough, doesn't it?

No?

Damn, I'm doing this wrong.

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