I wake in a nest of pillows and blankets that smell of fresh straw and heather, blood and sex.  Way too much light is coming in for this to be my city apartment, with its blackout shades and heavy curtains. I must be in my crash pad, the shell of a crumbling church a couple … Continue reading Hangover

I wake in a nest of pillows and blankets that smell of fresh straw and heather, blood and sex.  Way too much light is coming in for this to be my city apartment with its shades and heavy curtains. I must be in my crash pad, the shell of a crumbling building a couple miles … Continue reading Hangover (revisited)