NYRA

That day, I hadn't plan to leave the shop, my feet walked past the bakery, past the closed apothecary with its sagging green awning, past the station where the night trains never stopped and I just kept walking until my lungs hurt and the wind stung my face. Until the noise under my skin had somewhere to go.

The junkyard behind the tracks was the only place that didn’t ask for anything. Just rust and silence and broken things left to die. It felt like breathing in the dark.

I ...