PTSD

  • 5: The Captain

    5: The Captain

    Heat had a texture in the garage—a damp, heavy weave that clung to her arms and face. Turpentine and linseed oil hung in the air so thick that breathing and not-breathing had flattened into the same dull ache. At her feet, the bottles: mineral spirits, acetone. The hotplate’s cord curled under the workbench, and the…

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