cyprus

cap·tiousˈkapSHəs/

Popular music simultaneously undermines and reinforces our sense of place ...

Pale grey is silence. A good wind could wake this city.

He blinked, worked his jay slowly inside the mask of skin, intent on constructing a smile.

Charcoal, like the bodies if beetles, heaped below the glimmering wall. The sharpness of incinerated upholstery cut the street gritty stink

Agog(agi 1542) full of intense interest or excitement.

"My husband," Olga said. Her cheeks were ashy. "And guess what he yelled? That I was his enemy! He tried to push the window out with his head, cut himself, and then our can ran in and began licking his blood like a cannibal..." "How did it all begin" Pulcheria asked, barely breathing.

Food. Air. Companionship. Body fluids. Perhaps emotions or general emotional states. Probably more.

Night was some color between clear and cloud.