IF VIOLENCE, GORE, STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND SEXUAL IMAGERY BOTHERS YOU, DO NOT READ AHEAD.
I pace the floor of my decrepit little concrete box I call a home. The mold propagates itself against the yellowing walls, sickly sweet smells from the bathroom and mildew from the carpet combine to overwhelm the senses. Insects chitter and chatter along the window panes, single-file lines across my desk, inside my walls. Hanging nearby, a worn corkboard. Pin-cushioned to hell and back, adorned...