_brandoninidaho1979_
A Neon Noir: Volume Four, Chapter Zero aka Hair of The Dog
The stinging cold light of the morning crashes through the cracks of the blinds and brings the haze of lingering smoke dancing across his eyes, raw and red like little open sores that fear anything other than the retreat to the dark and dank safety of the socket.
Moaning
Eye lids pulling down and collecting in bags for the last few weeks like sacks of garbage slewn about the streets during a sanitation strike. A collection of filth that only a few see, but those few see it so often it slides from thier view into some subconscious dumpster only occasionally spilling out into something similar to remembrance.
Coughing
A cork pulled from his second favorite whisky and several days from his first favourite. The sickening sound of liguid being poured into a coffee mug, desolate splashes pause the symophic sounds of the street coming to life, ambient sounds of door slams and the occasional honk sounds like horns blowing from the corner of the room. "Why did I take this case" he asks himself staring into the cup. Pouring so frequently that the cork no longer serves a purpose.
A Neon Noir: Volume Four, Chapter Zero aka Hair of The Dog
The stinging cold light of the morning crashes through the cracks of the blinds and brings the haze of lingering smoke dancing across his eyes, raw and red like little open sores that fear anything other than the retreat to the dark and dank safety of the socket.
Moaning
Eye lids pulling down and collecting in bags for the last few weeks like sacks of garbage slewn about the streets during a sanitation strike. A collection of filth that only a few see, but those few see it so often it slides from thier view into some subconscious dumpster only occasionally spilling out into something similar to remembrance.
Coughing
A cork pulled from his second favorite whisky and several days from his first favourite. The sickening sound of liguid being poured into a coffee mug, desolate splashes pause the symophic sounds of the street coming to life, ambient sounds of door slams and the occasional honk sounds like horns blowing from the corner of the room. "Why did I take this case" he asks himself staring into the cup. Pouring so frequently that the cork no longer serves a purpose.