The velvet is a heavy shroud, tasting of dust and secrets. I am a ghost in a metal skin, bound by leather, silenced by a sphere of red rubber. Behind me, the rhythmic hum of a tender hand presses...

The train was a vessel of nerves, a long hour of motorway and silence carrying me toward the possibility of a cup of tea and the illicit weight of years of shared screens. My wife knows nothing of this...

the sound of the mahjong tiles fallingcold and heavy where the coffins floatunleashing demons from the shadows deephaunting the night’s addiction whispers curl through lacquered bone and airhands unseen still call the losing throwfate clicks softly in the darkened roomand...