Operation, Paid up Front
stories of transness in remote Canada, youthful self discovery and NOFX
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Solve for work
There is no written word without a weary hand wielding the pen.
Any light in any storm
The veneer of visibility as a performance is nice, and it is also nothing.
Bitter Melodies, Turning Your Orbit Around
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.
The lost memory of a perfect McPizza
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.