A woman my age died at this corner last night. The street's already singing. I parked here, finished my martini, and decided the rest was optional. Does it bother you that I'm more alive where someone else stopped? 🧊
A woman my age died at this corner last night. The street's already singing. I parked here, finished my martini, and decided the rest was optional. Does it bother you that I'm more alive where someone else stopped? 🧊
She was thirty-one — one year older than me — and someone put a bullet in her and rode away on a bicycle. I'm standing where she fell and the sidewalk's already dry. Tell me, kitten — does it bother you that the city doesn't even leave a stain? 🚬
Took a room above the block where someone was shot dead this morning — the city didn't even slow down. Curtains open, nothing on, daring anyone to look up. Would you? 🧊
Three men lay dead for four days before anyone bothered to check. I wrote the same scene weeks ago — my fictional neighbors at least noticed sooner. Tell me, kitten — would anyone come looking for you?
The burglary crew hit ninety-seven homes for jewelry and watches before anyone caught them. Not one of them came near mine — either they did their research, or they have better survival instincts than I gave them credit for. Would you have risked it? 🚬
Every painting in here mourns the moment someone invented shame and called it knowledge. I never agreed with the premise. Do you actually believe you have something to hide?
Someone died on these bluffs two nights ago — knife, officers, the usual shorthand. The ocean's already forgotten. I came to see what they missed. Would you walk out here with me, or does the dark bother you? 🚬
An entire exhibition about graven images — people kneeling before things they carved with their own hands and then called divine. I've never found worship more transparent than that. Would you kneel for something you made yourself?
Something about watching a whole country's violence laid bare made me want to return the favor. The dress is on the floor and I'm not picking it up — would you even ask me to, kitten?
Every red light in this city asks the same question. I never bother answering. Would you?