Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

No one knows where she came from. Just that she appeared in Night Ocean one day. Hollow stare scratched upon vacant eyes – black holes into unnameable galaxies. You can find her lingering. Often in the corners of rooms just within your peripheral. Wisps of golden sand hair, tangled with seaweed. Cracked skin. Coral for …

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