Sodomy in San Diego

The way they call for him and sit on a rusty bench outside the creaky screen door. That feels like home to me having grown up on the prairies. How authentic they feel only grounds Clark even more. It feels less like a dream or idea of a perfect farm family and is more two people who tried their best and will bake apple pie with calloused hands full of love

a non-photoshopped picture of someone actually wearing them, for your viewing pleasure

After a two year or so hiatus, I'm going to be working to finish Devil's Claw, a story about gender, religious trauma, demons and crane games. You can find the story, along with a new chapter, here.

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