southeastern gothic.
the humidity swallows you hole. that eerie feeling of being watched. tornado and amber alerts jerk you out of your zoned-out state. mindlessly staring at a pair of vultures devouring roadkill on the blood-stained, broken concrete. worn down, steel toed boots scrap against the sidewalk near a pentecostal church as a rackety, mufflerless pick-up truck shambles past you. it leaves a foul, smokey cloud of oil and gasoline in its wake and you hack out a fit of coughs as it forces its way down your lungs. you wipe the swelling tears from your eyes as you catch your breath, your ears ring from the roaring engine. the familiar dreadful uncertainty of ever getting out of this town crosses your mind again















