A Sad, Sad Ghost Picking at the Hairs of Their Knuckles

A wandering young woman explores the crevices of her apartment, of her corporeal creases, as well as the shadows made up of those things. Through her journey, she comes into contact with fellow vagrancies: a nondescript man of around similar age; a young girl with similar, even familiar, eyes; streets that can only exist during those brief moments of glazing stares. The rain comes and goes, but the A/C never turns off. A wandering young woman explores the crevices of her apartment, of her corporeal creases, as well as the shadows made up of those things. Through her journey, she comes into contact with fellow vagrancies: a nondescript man of around similar age; a young girl with similar, even familiar, eyes; streets that can only exist during those brief moments of glazing stares. The rain comes and goes, but the A/C never turns off. A wandering young woman explores the crevices of her apartment, of her corporeal creases, as well as the shadows made up of those things. Through her journey, she comes into contact with fellow vagrancies: a nondescript man of around similar age; a young girl with similar, even familiar, eyes; streets that can only exist during those brief moments of glazing stares. The rain comes and goes, but the A/C never turns off. A wandering young woman explores the crevices of her apartment, of her corporeal creases, as well as the shadows made up of those things. Through her journey, she comes into contact with fellow vagrancies: a nondescript man of around similar age; a young girl with similar, even familiar, eyes; streets that can only exist during those brief moments of glazing stares. The rain comes and goes, but the A/C never turns off.