The Second Day of My New Job Words by Louis Campbell
The walk home felt like a walk through a catacomb, the trunks were wide pillars, and behind them lay killers. Do I pick my teeth with a branch? Do I ask -? for a new Clothbound Classic -? every time my foot itches? Light quivers. The night’s hand, covered in cloth, wipes the heat off my cheeks like it were some filths on a ratty tabletop. Some brothers face covered in blood and slob. As the fist hit his face and his skull knocks about in his head. Tears fly with zest. Like oils which spray from an orange peel when pressed.
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