Stories Don't Need Titles. The snow that had been so long in coming shrugs off streetlights, illuminating small clouds as I press them from my lungs. The snow crunches under my feet, protesting their disruption as the snowflakes huddle together on the ground in a bizarre commune. My frostbitten finger cries out its usual complaints, even wrapped tight by other fingers and shoved into the pocket of my jacket. Take care, I mutter to it, soon I will make this worth your while. It is skeptical. The road ahead of me seems to stretch on to a sort of infinity, the red light of the faraway intersection flaring up at me like the cherry of a cigarett
Cleansing.Lustful glances otherwise occupiedTurn my own gaze downward, My scuffed and slightly oversized shoesDraped by scarred and soiled denim,The flannel pajamas breaking out throughThe breaches of overworked knees.Dressed for the cold in the heat of the night.Your body pressed against a glittering shirt,Equal forces of beauty fighting for space,Fabric stretched to capacityLike the sinews in your arms,Raised above your head,Swirling and twisting like a hurricaneOver the battlefield.The bar was sterile, Cleansed by alcoholic whispers.Feeling like a bacteria Fell upon by white blood cells.I took cover behind my came