Creative Non-Fiction
we go into the night as strangers
Sometimes the urge to run takes over me. It’s random, surprising, yet ultimately calming. I’m in the back seat of a moving car, looking at the ash of my cigarette burning down to a pencil point, grey and black flakes
we go into the night as strangers
Sometimes the urge to run takes over me. It’s random, surprising, yet ultimately calming. I’m in the back seat of a moving car, looking at the ash of my cigarette burning down to a pencil point, grey and black flakes