Summer sweat Stories

There are two sides to every story. Just like the city—the one behind me with its rotting piers and ferry horns, and the one ahead, all glass, steel, and clean lines pretending they were never poured over ash. It used to be the same place. Same bones. But now the skyline had been scrubbed of its filth and memory. It looked nothing like Cobain’s Heart-Shaped Box anymore. No rot, no grit, no sex in the seams. Just polished...