We are paint streaked runners,deafened by the cries of all the sad people. It’s a powerful sound that practically yanks the tears right out of you. Sometimes, you just can’t help but feel like a...

don’t make too much noise”. October’s dust in my lungs, maybe I don’t want bits of four AM lingering in my subconscious. Smokers breathe in fire, coat their insides in ash. Is that suicide or...