Wind tearing the skin off the pine, crimson splash of leaves off hospital lands beating against the windows. Been a violent fall so far but it keeps your mind off the ground. Something across the hall is bleating and the ceiling's getting downright juicy. It's no damn good for the posture, friend.
Peeled myself off the drywall to alert the world to the presence of something new in the merry old land of Orcakinder. Something that reminds me of the good old days, sucking dust on a Santa Ana afternoon on the corner in the shade of the convenience store. Listening to the crazies in the loft above the store, all hisses and choking and jazz music. That one day the window blew out and we all swore we'd never talk about what we saw inside. You remember?
I really wish we'd followed through on that. Maybe then the wind wouldn't be so upset with us.
I miss what outside was like.
Love,
the dead minotaur