There's a book here somewhere.
This world isn’t made for people who get behind.
Ever have one of those stretches where nothing coherent ever takes place? I'm in one of those now. And it's been a long one. I want to write, but nothing concrete is appearing in my mind. I've read my previous stuff, but nothing is sparking any ideas. I finished reading "Babel-17" by Samuel Delany. I …
“I left and didn’t look back.”
“You did some really dumb shit, but you’re not bad.”
There was a past to forget.
I don't want to die in this town.