adam stenhouse

By adamstenhouse

it's cold here, bitter today, where you never warm your bones. always uncomfortable. the little gas heater blowing hot air two feet in front till it disappears into the cold. in my bathroom i can see my own breath. music in the background from my computer thumps an unsteady beat as it flits from song to song on random, not setting any mood in particular as it shifts from john coltrane to led zepplin to a random oddity. and the sun slowly falls down the valley lighting up the hills, and it looks so warm, and i dream a bit more about an imagined summer

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