La Maestra_Koffee_The Last Of Us_While Dressed As An Owl
Catalog Guide:
La Maestra
Midday. A forgotten cigarette curled bluish-hot smoke from its perch in a faded melamine ashtray, while a persistent fly played toccata e fuga with Gennaro’s bushy lughole. He didn’t wince, concentrated as he was. Next to him, Mario, aka “O Capitano”; across the table, Piero “O Communista” Esposito, and on his right, the one whose name no-one ever recalled – he usually answered to Lorenzo, would also accept Vincenzo, but generally went by Coso (Thingy.)Gennaro exhaled as he played his hand; with an almost boy-like glee he scooped up the Settebello from the cards on the table as the other old-t...
Koffee
CW: transphobiaWell, it turns out that I am hyper-fixated on background noises and want to feel them touching my skin and prickling my ears. I must have caught on to that thought or that realization while stuck in the rain one day but it does feel certain in a kind of morbid way. And, of course, I’d hate to admit that there has been a want in my heart for quite some time now; a want for something appealing like stranger’s hushed conversations on Friday nights. In admitting that thought, I become a vulnerable child and who’s to say vulnerability suits me?I must have been walking home that night...
The Last Of Us
Everything was ready for the ritual. Elijah had been up all morning checking and double checking the preparations they made for this night. It was just after sundown when he woke her up. " Are you sure about this?” Elijah asks his wife. " I’m sure” Miriam yawns, still waking up. She searches her husband’s face in the failing candlelight. He looks afraid even though he’s trying not to. She reaches a hand up to caress his worried face. He responds by kissing her hand and then her forehead. He pulls her into an embrace and says. " Well I’m not sure. I’m not sure if it’s worth it. ” His eyes glowi...
While Dressed As An Owl
“Well, that was dramatic,” his father said.Tuesday’s meant something from the Katherine Hepburn canon, and this time, it was On Golden Pond. When Walter was done with his performance, his father could only muster that one bit of feedback and then he went back to his copy of The Atlantic. His mother sighed and asked him to go get ready for bed. It was past eleven, after all, and he had school the next day.If there was owww.onedoor.ccne thing Walter could do, it was memorize things other people had said.Not quotes so much, but dialogue. Movies. Television shows. Entire seasons of them. He could commit them to...