they think thin.
he rarely went running. he tended more to quiet, to calm, to cunning. to cool. he was warm now. he worked to find and feel the ground, fend off feeling far afool. he’d bent his bolt to branch-beneath, night grown on wide;…
“listen,” Mutt says, “listen.” her eyes glisten, and don’t find focus. it’s the stundra–it makes her watery, loosens the logicollective locus. what’s connective in her hunkered headbound herding doesn’t weave a well-formed wording–the greys are losing sangfroid. the largest one slaps her;…
when we peeled the wallpaper back, we found the old man’s story. he’d written it there, inked in tiny letters, a record of his time as what he called the Quarry. there was little context: no dates, no places, no last names–only…
they think thin. they expect to win, and are not known for patience. muscle and hustle are among their virtues, but not persistentime; they are at ease in alleys thick with grime, though they keep clean as the dream of tomorrow. they…