cramming the world into a (phrase)
#16
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indent The pop and hiss of a match signaled his addiction’s hold. It was, in many ways, all he thought he was. There was no more to hold onto, just estranged family, forgotten friends, and the vague reminder of everything he had left behind. No one had ever managed to get him to answer exactly why he had left. He didn’t need to define himself outside of his own personal conventions, be they a cigarette, a tongue-ring, a tattoo, or the anathema. All things in time, though. All things in time.
indentHe listened to the words, inhaling on the tobacco and tasting the smoke deep in his throat. This was not the first time someone had come to him with confession—it would not be the last. It was indifference that kept him in that position; while he judged silently, he did not let this outweigh what his head told him. The death of a child was not entirely shocking. A long time ago, he had seen a mother do the same, if for different reasons. “Can you tell me why? Do you remember?” He sounded like a psychologist, like they were Freud and his wolfman.






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