pulling shades…
I spoke to a girl, with shattered glass eyes, who asked me about September 11th. ‘You were there yeah?’ she said with a rich accent I was unable to immediately identify. ‘Yes.’ I confirmed. Knowing I was different then. Wondering why she wanted to know. ‘What did you do?’ she asked with an intensity I found somewhat frightening, cornered by her accented abruptness, cut by the glass of her eyes. ‘I got high and pretended like it...