I Am Not the Painter from Puerto Rico
THE FIREWORKS LAST THROUGH DAWN. Smoke collects in streetlights, lingering that dense, burnt chemical sweetness you come to love through old age. It’s colder than cold and yet I’m warm inside…
THE FIREWORKS LAST THROUGH DAWN. Smoke collects in streetlights, lingering that dense, burnt chemical sweetness you come to love through old age. It’s colder than cold and yet I’m warm inside…