unreliable narrators

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I’m eating Burger King in my car when I start to think the Polish idol I saw on Eurovision is some sort of shaman.

The first hint that theres any water leaking in is the cold around my feet, down by the brake and gas petals

I have nothing to do except dwell here playing this game with my “friends.”

A little .22 snub-nose rat-gun isn’t ever going to do enough.

I’m sitting in a small wooden chair outside of the head of the writing department’s office.

I have this little book — a theory on the camera that I quite enjoy.

Much easier to just be honest, tell the truth and why not

That’s bullshit. Fear of the outside world my ass.

I Googled, What does it mean when an object becomes unrecognizable?

It’s leg day and I’m trying to focus, trying to bathe in the agony that is emanating up through my legs in waves.