Antihero Stories

Seattle doesn’t change, not really. Cold. Wet. The mist was thick enough to blur the skyline into smudges of gray. Streets slick with rain, the air always heavy, like it’s pressing you down into the concrete. Everyone walks fast here, heads low, collars up. Pretending they don’t see the things piling up in the news. The bodies show up steadily, like clockwork. Every week or two. A homeless man slumped against a wall, skin...

It’s been a long winter in Seattle. The kind where the rain never really stops, just changes in volume. Days smear into nights until you forget when one ends and the other begins. Classes. Part-time work. Grocery runs between downpours. Reality is nothing like the glossy college life they show in movies: no endless sunny quads, no picture-perfect friend groups. Just damp hair, sore feet, and laundry that never seems to dr...