.chris on Nostr: The squeaks grow louder, quicken, and the air is thick with the smell of xylene. ...
The squeaks grow louder, quicken, and the air is thick with the smell of xylene. Quiet and intent, her arms inked up to the elbows, she sits in the centre of the library. There's a book in her hands and a marker moves left to right in a flurry. Until there is a pause, that is. And then she redacts herself from the very last line of the very last page and everything goes suffocatingly black.
Published at
2023-02-09 06:26:27Event JSON
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