Category Archives: Emo Pistols
I hate the taste of coffee. It smells nice. It smells like the silence of late afternoons with Sarah, when she sits at the table and drinks it and reads the newspaper while I sit on the couch and read … Continue reading
Hello, Anya. I see I have two letters from you. I am sorry for taking so long to reply. I am the Seth that went through the hole in the woods, and I am also the Seth who had to … Continue reading
Hello, Jasper. We are back in San Myshuno. I do not think I would like these stores that remain in Windenburg. I prefer the sorts of stores that aren’t there anymore when you come back a few days later with … Continue reading
Hello Anya. I am glad to hear from you. I always enjoy your letters. I am sorry for the lives where you tried to find a door. I don’t imagine they were very pleasant. But at least the door eventually … Continue reading
Unzipping a canvas tent flap is not quite the same thing as opening stiff hotel curtains, but it’ll do. Hello, Jasper. I got your last letter just before Sarah and I left San Myshuno for three days in Granite Falls.
Hello, Anya. Today I went out to the tracks. I waited for a while, but no door ever appeared. Sometimes a train would come clanking down the tracks. I did not try to go through the trains, though. I don’t … Continue reading
I opened the door. I am in the lobby. Taking out the trash. Waiting to see if everything is going to go wrong. I hope that if it does, the vase with the fake orchids gets smashed first.