The air was opaque with pollen from dead trees the day after yesterday. I kept careful reconnaissance of the upcoming week through a pair of broken binoculars. I felt the rigidity of my routine dissolve under the stress of one-on-one parties.
I always make my escape from the festivities under the guise of midnight, beady eyes watching my shadow for questions hurled after me. I just want to retire to my filthy harpy nest and ferment the edges of my life.
12:03 a.m. - 2016-02-24
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