doesnโt seem to matter how far i travel, my destiny is always followed by blood and gunsmoke. the result is always the same every time, mountains of death and debris.
[ post rescue ]
huddled into the side of bus shelter , barely escaping the rain . hands were stuffed into the pockets of an oversized hoodie , and a hood pulled up . the bus was twelve minutes late , the prospect of walking home wasnโt an inviting one .