i guess this is about travel

The funny thing about traveling isn’t the glut of “new”: new places, tastes, sensations, languages, people. A hot apocalyptic wind rolling over gray-white cement at the Denver airport; the liminal, oddly moving scent of European laundry detergent; a sea of faces, unfamiliar in the most real and abstract ways. It’s that last one that weirds…

pine bush murder spree.

He stood there, pale and luminous, with the blood-flushed cheeks and glazed eyes of someone able to look at the ground for seventeen miles. Yes, seventeen miles: “Hey, I’ve been there. Last November I was on a really long run—seventeen miles I think—and I got lost too. It was getting dark; it was night, actually,…