The Changeling – S. K. Nicholas


Worn shoes covered in mud and a cigarette puffing into the bleary sky and maybe it’s I’m sad and that I can’t let go of what once was but these streets speak of things my heart so often denies and just what can I add to that? Not much, my friend. Not much. Other than I’m severely confused and that the years keep spinning further out of reach. It’s raining, so I disappear into some greasy spoon, and as the waitress brings me a plate of something unappetising, I look up at the clock on the wall thinking of things I know I’m not supposed to think about, but I can’t help myself. I say it’s that I’m a writer and therefore my job, but deep down, it’s that I’m not like other people at all. I tried being a regular guy, but it never seemed to click, and so…

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