A small country diner where everyone here has long gone grey.
The rattling of pill bottles in handbags chattering of cleaning headstones.The ascetic is from a time I never lived, Napkins on laps and no elbows on tables. This place is waist deep in liver and biscuits steeped in tradition. Nursing home survivors swapping surgery stories.As I look out the window I see the town graveyard where death waits just outside the diner doors, Truly a surreal landscape where time seems to drag on.
Non blurry view outside my window
nothing will fuck you up as much as the realization that there’s no real reason the alphabet needs to be in order
Just a fraction of the cool stuff I learned when researching women’s history.
if you live with a cat, you have had this conversation.
Paint primary colors on fan wings