I’m kind of just standing here in the garage and the light is all dusty and yellow like it’s coming through a dirty soda bottle.

you know that feeling when the air in a room is so thick with money it feels like trying to breathe through a heavy wool blanket you cannot afford to dry clean.

I have been sitting here in the dark behind the old upholstery shop for forty minutes now, just listening to the engine cool down and the grease soak through the brown paper bag.

I wake up and the room feels like it’s filled with grey smoke—not the kind that smells like a fire, but the kind that just makes everything blurry and heavy.