Tenebrae

It’s what you listen to when you’re in the gritty alley behind the bar, bent over in the shadows, grasping the edge of the dirty dumpster as someone pounds into you from behind. What you hear as you stand beneath a tree, rain pouring down, smoke curling upward from your cigarette as you watch the rest of the world scurry off toward their homes as the sunlight vanishes. When you’re standing in the window of a seedy motel, neon lights casting you in a jaundiced light as you stare at your naked reflection, the sound of gravel crunching under tires as he disappears into the night. When all you are is skin and sweat and obsession and sin.

Listen.

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