The gate is open, but he is gone. My locks are doubled and curtains drawn. The comfort of a fire escape and tin whistles with sharp reeds.
Fifteen minutes before sleep, an insomniac texts himself a record of the day in 140 characters or less.
by antoni.us
The gate is open, but he is gone. My locks are doubled and curtains drawn. The comfort of a fire escape and tin whistles with sharp reeds.
