A dark and labyrinthine parking lot cloaking a building mantled in synthetic golden light. The skitter of addicts in the recesses, and between dust-thick cars. An upstairs back room made of half memories, and half nightmares. A line of men with haunted faces watching each other guiltily. The smell of bleach scrubbing the sinuses free of the other, more viscerally cloying undertones. Locked doors, unsatisfied need, pocket change. And an hour to resolve this infinite sliver of their lives. I've seen this enough times to know how it all ends. Tragically, in the small hours afterward in the aloneness with themselves.
10:44 a.m. - 2020-12-31
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