The basement breathes with the weight of old wounds tonight, the lights in their usual way casting fractured rainbows across brick walls that weep condensation like tears never shed in daylight.
A change in tone. Are we watching people change, one story at a time? Perhaps not just the characters in these stories but the readers of them too? A gentle message that not all the shit that befalls us is our own fault??
So true
A change in tone. Are we watching people change, one story at a time? Perhaps not just the characters in these stories but the readers of them too? A gentle message that not all the shit that befalls us is our own fault??
The more of these I read, the more I wish this place were real and just down the street from me.
This isn’t a bar. It’s a cathedral made of scar tissue and second chances.
Where communion is grilled cheese, the sacraments are stories, and the altar is whatever holds you when the world tries to unmake you.
Nice, Virgin. And too true.