She curls into herself, pulling the ratted, threadbare remains of her blanket tightly around her shoulders. She glares at the heater, rattling and clicking uselessly in the corner. Her eyes are bloodshot and yellowed, what’s left of her hair brittle and matted. She bites at her cracked, peeling lips with teeth that have turned a deep red, as ( Read more... )

Ah, memories.

We watched The Third Man in Philosophy and Film tonight. There's something about the last half hour that makes me forget to breathe. Something about the droves of police men, in their helmets and boots, speaking that harsh language and shining their oversize flashlights down long dark tunnels. It brings back The Sound of Music and The Diary of ( Read more... )