By Elsiewhere. under the overpass, near the tracks, by an oil-rainbowed, murky stream are stories written and left behind by people who come here at night. It’s daytime, nobody’s here,…
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By Elsiewhere. under the overpass, near the tracks, by an oil-rainbowed, murky stream are stories written and left behind by people who come here at night. It’s daytime, nobody’s here,…