In the morning, I wash the inside of a french press with a sponge, and grab the brown bag of coffee grounds from behind the sink. I shake to loosen what's left before turning the bag over the press, watching as the grounds spill to the bottom. As I fill the kettle with water and... Continue Reading →
Seville, Spain, 2011 It's late, and we'd talked for hours. Long enough that when we looked away, our eyes burned from the light off our screens, and our ears sore from the headphones pressing against them. I'm fucked tomorrow, I groaned, glancing at the clock to the bottom right of the computer. What I remember... Continue Reading →
I still think about him, he says, the ash of his cigarette flaking off near my shoe. As we all do, I shrug, tired of the runaround. We all think of him. Every day probably. I don't. I shrug again - but it feels forced. Well however much then; we all do. I mean, I... Continue Reading →
I just want to know, I said that night, siting on a bench under a street lamp. All these years, and did I leave you with anything? I asked. Did I leave a mark, so when you do this thing you'll forever think "there was this girl, one time, she showed me how to do... Continue Reading →
Lindsey Hall Writes 