Burning Mattress; Chapter Uno (Sorta)

The mattresses are burning. The streets are lined with car husk, the wind whips through them carrying the smell of fried catnip. Wild Dingoes roam the alleyways searching for food, and some where a baby is crying. Glass crunches under my sneakers as I walk. This is my home, these are my streets, and this is my city; the city of Warren. Continue reading Burning Mattress; Chapter Uno (Sorta)

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