misery tourism

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Inspektor Zig is an existential detective.

I live in a seaside motel. On nights the ocean is lively I can lie in bed and hear it murmur midnight elegies.

I search my sock drawer for a clean shirt to wear.

i knew he had been supplying underage girls for sex but had no desire to speak to him

Jerri sits before a wall of televisions, focused on one in particular in the upper right corner of the display.

BLOOD FOR THE SHATTERED FIGMENTS IN MY BRAIN

Every lunch period, Ethan ate his soyrizo scrambles and paced around, flexing his biceps and leading the group in animal rights discussions.

Being this close was something I never really thought about. It’s not something I really ever had to think about.

I often hear my neighbors fight,
falling asleep to dimming light.

My name is ghost,
pronounced lost—