A heavily graffitied tram with smashed windows sits well off the rails. Fruit flies en masse investigate rotting piles of refuse. A small pack of dogs regard distant sound warily. I move with careful surety up the tracks, past the detritus. A thunderous crunch of rusted male-metal hinging into female sockets in the distance. More piles of garbage, brightly colored but for the sun bleaching. A handful of tents somewhere behind sagging underbrush. A small pile of round, smooth stones. Out of place among the slate-gray filler. A zombie placeholder. Maybe a reminder. I leave it undisturbed.
9:44 a.m. - 2019-11-06
Recent entries:
Persistent Piercing - 2019-11-21
Sewn Fingers - 2019-11-15
Remorsels - 2019-11-15
Removing Itself - 2019-11-14
Councilhymns - 2019-11-13
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