I felt God in the buildings
Craig Finn and grieving and I'm sorry in advance
Craig Finn and grieving and I'm sorry in advance
There is no written word without a weary hand wielding the pen.
The veneer of visibility as a performance is nice, and it is also nothing.
My first coffee was poured from the spout of a steel urn into a styrofoam cup, the kind that squeaks and crunches in your hand when you touch it that I’m certain was a little toxic.
I can tell you that McPizza was salty and sweet, with perfectly melted cheese that tasted a little like an old ninja turtle fresh from 2 minutes in the microwave, all melted plastic and nostalgia.