Stina Leicht

Themselves. Death. The void. That which is strange to them—

“I didn’t mean on a philosophical level,” Paulie whispered, rolling her eyes.

I used to care.

This city wears upon one’s soul like a steel file on soapstone.

Rosie asked, “And how exactly did he—significant pause—leave?”

Angel looked away. “The same way he arrived. Through my bedroom window.”