The air is heavy. Fuck. That’s not it. The air is thick. No. The air is pregnant. Definitely not. The air is heavy. Ok, fine. A thick stew of rain rises in a ricochet from the pavement. Aerosolizing and impregnating the air with it’s filthy, sweet, sweaty mix of waterdirtshitbacteria soup. It rises up from…

I like the bitter taste of over-steeped tea and the light smell of burning that comes through the window from the train tracks behind the building. Morning light filters in and a dull glow hits the edges and curves. I am in a sepia mood. Acrid leafy tastes linger at the back of my throat…