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Fragments
“Untitled Fragment #8″
The thugs jump around lightly in the light wind on the open platform like boxers, hitting like butterflies, not wanting to sting their friends. It’s been a long day. The young Latin girls, their caps’ brims as stiff as the boys from before, whisper about the black men who whistled at them safely from a […]
- When it's cold
- There are increasingly two kinds of people in this hyper-connected world of networks and...
- What if there were a religion that accepted God as inperfect? Just about all current beliefs revolve...
- God, is it easy to buy into apocalyptic furor. Today, Oil shot up, unemployment skyrocketed, and the...
- Though nearly destroyed by a fucking bank, this is the last...
