The grease rain punched through the cloudcover after hours of tepid waiting. The overcast skies helped to disguise my aging body and my disconnected loneliness. The drive home on abandoned streets was long and welcome. In the distance, a reverberating, crying chant of a woman nudged my consciousness as I retired to the bomb shelter. I carried the sound of her voice with me into hours of closed eyes and lavender orchid candle smoke.
11:55 a.m. - 2017-02-06
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