Edited by Sanyam Garg
His arcane confinement within the inky walls of the run-down gelateria, Filled him with an unhinged hankering for the umbrous meadows and chimerical olive groves of his favourite sordid capriccio.
He stopped rattling his ale flask after intermittent glares from a pack of acidhead goths, Charmlessly flaunting their devotion to the neon-soaked gargoyle carvings of the back bar.
He now gaped at the scarlet terrazzo flooring, Spiralling into oblivion to elude the wall art’s enticing tangerine trance.
His heart began to blot the pages of his shabby journal, With each dripping word crookedly seeping through to hasty and malign beginnings.
He knew none of it was perfect. But it didn’t have to be.