it is a good thing the boys have pockets and
we don’t:
we can run around the city shoving our fists
into their denim cavities and stealing every-
thing shiny, everything sharp.
and we walk away free, our petticoats drag-
ging through mud,
cheeks flushed and chests warm,
corsets stuffed with cash.
Dogs bark and urgent footsteps approach just as Arpine lowers himself down into the hidden tunnel of the old mansion. “What the fuck...
No one cared about the cold and fog that came in that night. It was the dead of winter and fog often drifted down from the lighthouse,...
Are you there? Once, my fingers curled around chunks of grass, ripping them from the ground, throwing them carelessly in the air— the...
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