I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles, asides, subjective misnomers. Eating and breathing them too.

A unisex fragrance is on view. Sorry, not tonight.

*
Ghosts roam with panicked ants. You can put them on. It’s like a dance to respect what we were doing — we were working on it.

There’s body hustle, along with rips in the cargo of space/time where drivers burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth from blades, accompanied by addiction to risk.

Come here often?