Hours of driving across eastern California. Winding roads that dissolve into the dark. Filthy falling frost streaks the headlights and stains the asphalt black. An empty rest stop that looks like an abandoned cabin. Stuttering lights leave everything wan and jaundiced. Giant firs caked with rime. The curve of snow drifts hide the bodies of thousands of infected. I pull over and dig myself a snow-angel grave beside the blue-tinted faces of strangers. Caressed to sleep by polluted snowflakes that taste like bleach and turpentine.
11:35 p.m. - 2020-03-12
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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