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“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” —William Shakespeare
I’m thirty-five years old and I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with my life.”
He waited. And waited. And waited. After a time, something curdled and died inside him. It wasn’t just his disheartened spirit, but rather it felt like a physical sensation, like a tiny organ shriveling up and turning hard and black in the center of his gut.
It was like some tether uniting us, combining us to make us whole. Two halves brought together.
