A New Kind of Literary Pulse

NO SLEEP TILL

BROOKLYN!

Count of 15 on the beat keeping time, head nodding and finger tapping—

Your cup holders carry expired coupons, the dented tiara from when you were crowned ...  [+]

You and (I suppose) I are waiting at a cold bus stop. We witness the moment, full morning, when the streetlights turn off.
Your eyes don't register a difference; the sun functions, so the ...  [+]