The bus terminal was located just outside the city. Trash piled up in the corners, ignored by mutual agreement, while the stench of urine assaulted the senses. Spray paint and advertisements decorated the interior; messages were immortalized in sharpie on every surface. Conversations echoed in the emptiness between buses ( Read more... )

The stench of our humanity makes the room feel close, suffocating us. I am melancholy, trapped again by my own invariable pattern. I have spun myself a web only to find the strands too slick to climb. Forgive me. I can't seem to let this go ( Read more... )