Firebug
You understand intuitively why people are drawn to burned-out houses. Even grandmothers.
You understand intuitively why people are drawn to burned-out houses. Even grandmothers.
We know our lives here are fleeting, but it’s the sort of knowledge we don’t care to call up that often—as if mortality were a somewhat shameful secret.
The sunset memories of my teens are seared. The sunset memories of my twenties are speckled.
Now that the pre-workout has worn off enough that you can stop running to escape the impending explosion of your beating heart, pull out some weights.
I got a new car, but I don’t really get my new car.
Overhead lights were created by an evil mastermind to simulate the timelessness of a void.
It is so comforting to return to a store I could navigate blindfolded.
Someone—or something—keeps turning on the lights.
In a society where people can change classes within a generation or even a lifetime, how do individuals and groups cling to social snobbery?
At camp, I’d cried, prayed, and reaffirmed my faith in ways I never did during normal church services. And…that happened again.