a story (begrudgingly)
She walked through the door. Alright goddamnit? She. A female. Woman? girl? Who the fuck can tell the difference these days? A door. What the fuck difference does it make what the door looks like?
You don’t know what’s on the other side of the door and I don’t know what’s on the other side of the door and neither of us knows why she walked through the damn door in the first place. And, for fuck’s sake, she doesn’t even exist.
Not really anyway.
No more than I do.
Just a bunch of parched words lying prone in the desert, watching a bunch of vultures circle overhead. Waiting for the story to stop twitching so they can pick it clean.