An old boxer can tell you that there is no shortcut to the championship rounds.
Time had eroded all of the silly parts: hair and skin and muscle and youth. It left behind a brittle skeleton walking on a razor’s edge.
I’m in an empty convention center bathroom, staring down at the rows of tiny square tiles, wondering if I’ll see my lunch again.
I wanted to use my hands to practice my art.
You’ve never actually seen the world. But you already knew that…