everyone in hell is eating devilled eggs the day after easter
I take long breaks from work to sit in dim light of the basement, surrounded by broken furniture piled to the ceiling. I close my eyes and imagine my face sliding off my head. All the vacated offices on the first-floor smell just like the empty rooms of the abandoned hotel when I worked there in '99. What is it? The musty odor of the carpet? Or just the smell of emptiness itself? Or maybe it's me, the stink of isolation in a misdirected life.