I evaded that trap, 8 am, begging, food, pennies rattling. Why did I not give anything
We condemn escapism always, abstract, is it destruction or is it just us, wet, cold, breathing, needing?
What’s so different between a housewife in her Danielle Steele and a sans-abri in his bottle of Bordeaux?
Tell me. What flows through our veins?
Question 1, question 2, question 3
and in between I’m writing again