Raw, vulnerable, philosophical.
So yeah. I have faith. Not in God. Not in politics. But in the hole. And the swallow. And the beautiful, terrifying grace of letting the stranger on the other side be a saint, just for tonight.
It was in a cracked tile bathroom at a truck stop off Interstate 9. A place that smells of bleach, stale cigarettes, and desperation. A place where the lights flicker like a dying heartbeat.
