The father stares down ten-year-old Darien. The boy rises and walks to the corner to wait for the light, then steps into the street and picks up the bottle. He brings the bottle back to his father.
He ignored his customers’ penetrating glares and sly whispers and began stacking cage eggs.
We collect symbols and consume symbols and sometimes are consumed by symbols.
You’re not sure if you’re sleepy or uncomfortable, if your heart is stopping every few seconds by your hand or hers, there is something rotten about being mortal and even this crush-love—
“Remind me again why you’re writing a burn piece about yourself.”
At night I can feel my dreams crawl out and inject themselves into your side, I can feel the veins of the pillows pulsing through to each other.
This is not Apple Strudel’s first showing. She’s been shown from the Milky Way to the Pisco Nebula.