The darkness is nearly complete. I can hear the titanic hum of a box fan, two vents, three disc drives, and the air conditioner. I'm already under the covers, nestled safe and warm, ready to fall asleep, when
I crawl my way out. With a thin, waspish hand, I alight on the computer to flip it open. Bleary eyes guide me.
"What is a picaresque?"
Good. Now I can go to sleep.
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Dance in the Full Moon
O, the Frailty of Memory
Pride Goeth Before a Fall
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My Serial Mistakes
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Sheeple
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