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A Story In Which Nothing Happens

A Story In Which Nothing Happens

You remember the night well. You still wear that black dress, but you broke those sandals the following summer when you traveled to Europe during your existential crisis. You are constantly doing stupid things to cover up how uncomfortable you are.

Personal Spaces

I remember being surprised by how clean it was. Not that he’s necessarily a messy person, but the living room in their apartment was always in a state of utter catastrophe, and walking into his room felt like when you dunk your head under water and everything is muffled and calm.

Pretty Things

Where is the line between being a real writer who thinks they’re a hack and just being an actual hack??? How can you tell which side you’re on?

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