
@theartofmadeline

Product Placement
styofa doing anything
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Kaledo Art
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Cosmic Funnies

Kiana Khansmith
almost home
KIROKAZE
Game of Thrones Daily
Misplaced Lens Cap
Show & Tell
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

⁂

★

Discoholic 🪩
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@themidtowners
(Image by u/h8h8h8h8_)
My laundromat is infuriatingly liminal
empty houses......
When taking a visit to Midtown:
(a collaborative effort between @s-s-southsideserpentine and @thebetterjonesboy, inspired by the style of @hgk477)
1. Take in the scenery. The lush trees and scenic views of the sunset are one of the only things the two block-radius has to offer.
2. Notice the layout. The six small houses tucked next to the train tracks, the eerily empty shopping center beckons you with its green-lit warnings. The fog looms in thick clouds over the ground, no matter the weather that day.
3. Don’t comment about how quiet it is there, they already know. For a neighborhood that parallels the train tracks, you sure never see the train passing through. Late at night when you hear a train whistle in the distance, ask yourself whether or not this is a fever dream.
4. Tell yourself that it isn’t; that you were hearing the next freight shipment from the Blossom Maple Farm. Make yourself believe it.
5. When you need to buy yourself groceries, take a visit to the Grocery Outlet. Don’t ask the locals why they call it the “grossout”. It’s better that you not know.
6. Before you enter into the tiled, timeless cavern that is the grossout, pull out your stopwatch. You’ll want to know how much time you really spent in there.
7. When you reach into the dairy fridge to grab yourself some milk, don’t question the hands that come from behind in order to slide you the last quart of 2%. They know more than you know…ask them questions.
8. If you find yourself needing to use the restroom, you might find that it’s in your best interest to reconsider. If you’re brave enough to venture into the depths of the great unwashed, knock on the door three times before you check the handle.
9. If it’s unlocked, it means they welcome you. Try your best to drown out the drip-dropping sounds of sourceless water that echoes throughout the grey-tiled restroom.
10. As you make your way up to Buddy at register one, mind the shadows. They follow you as you bob and weave between the produce section and the deli, but vanish the second you check over your shoulder.
11. When you hand the cashier your sweaty, crumpled-up dollar bills, don’t look him in the eye. He doesn’t like when people stare at his scar. Drop your change in the tip jar, whisper a thank-you to him.
12. He and all the other spirits appreciate it.
13. Upon exiting the grossout, pull out your stopwatch. Did you spend more time in there than you thought? Less? It’s quite funny, isn’t it? How time seems to escape you here. Nevertheless, we hope you enjoy your stay.
14. If you find your clothes in need of a wash, follow the dull glow down the block. It’ll lead you to “Stop n’ Wash”, the local laundromat.
15. It’s often hard to distinguish the tired churn of the machines and droning buzz from the static silence of the dreary town.
16. Keep an eye on the clock on the wall, locals murmur about how they swear it never moves. There’s a reason the unofficial slogan is “Stop n Wash, where time stops and your clothes might get washed.”
17. The locals sit as they wait, at most a quiet hum of conversation, often nothing but the whitenoise. During the day sometimes there’s a faint breeze of 90’s grunge drifting through the background. Old magazines, tattered books, earbuds and hoods, the blaring light of a cell phone against a face you swear you saw once in a town across the state.
18. That shadow in the corner lingers. Vaguely shaped of a person, you might look to a local in alarm. They won’t take notice of you, so you’ll look back. The shadow isn’t there any longer and the skin on the back of your neck will begin to crawl as the hair on your arms starts to stiffen.
19. The air will begin to feel thick, like you’re trying to breathe in molasses. As you begin to feel like you’re suffocating, not understanding how everyone is unphased, you’ll stand and try to leave.
20. If you can’t find the door, wait for the lights to flicker. The 3rd bulb in the first row will flicker twice before the 1st bulb in the 2nd row flickers once. The doors will be there, waiting. The exit sign searing your dilated pupils.
21. If you feel the gaze of a hundred pairs of eyes on your back as you leave, don’t panic. They’re just curious, harmless though unsettling. Don’t look back, Orpheus was warned and you ought to heed the advice he chose not to. Tales are told for a reason.
22. Don’t pause in the doorway, just go. Didn’t your mother always tell you it was bad luck? You really mustn’t question so much whilst your visit continues on.
23. If you’re lucky enough to have brought your car with you, the gas station is the best place to go for cigarettes and a cheap fill up.
24. When you get out of your car, roll up your windows. Lock your doors. Don’t make eye contact.
25. As you approach the dimly-lit convenience store that’s attached to the local Gas & Go, look down. The masses of old men that flock around it’s doors lick their chops as you approach.
26. If you ask any of the locals, they’ll sadly admit that said group of men rarely leave their sidewalk perch. It’s been the same group of men for years. Nothing seems to change.
27. Hair gets greyer, beards get longer, but their unsettling presence is constant. Keep to yourself and you’ll be safe.
28. Every time you step foot inside the small store, the man behind the counter will great you with a startled, “You alright?”, as if he himself cannot fathom another person setting foot inside.
29. Nod your head and smile. Fake it if you have to. Pay for your carton of cigarettes, tell him $20 on pump #2. Hand him your card and nod appreciatively when he passes you the receipt.
30. Look at his name tag. Some say the only thing that changes about the man behind the counter is the name sewn into his starched shirt.
31. Walk quickly back to your car. Sit in the driver’s seat as your tank fills up.
32. Don’t forget to lock your doors.
33. If you are unable to afford the luxury of your own car, don’t fret, public transportation is always an option. The red and blue lights of the bus stop are welcoming and unsettling all in one.
34. Sit on the cold metal bunch until you realize that the bus is never coming.
35. If you see the headlights crawling through the fog, you might want to rub your eyes. It came long before you arrived, and won’t come again until long after you leave.
36. Some of the locals joke about how they swear sometimes the destination bar on the front of the vehicle reads “nowhere”, but the emptiness behind their eyes will leave you with the haunting feeling they might not be joking as much as they’d like to think they are. Laugh along, humor them. They need it.
37. As you make your way back to whatever godforsaken place you’ve managed to find lodging for the night, don’t worry too much about the rustling coming from the brush. The locals tend to gather in the shadows, singing songs in mother tongues.
38. If you find yourself unable to fall asleep, do not worry.
39. Check the clock on the old wood bedside table. Through the thick layer of dust you can see the neon red numbers, 00:00. Don’t think too much about it.
40. Remember, time is fleeting here. If it exists, it’s certainly not linear.
🖊Ari
ari is one of the character’s in the midtown au, trying her best to navigate living between the two warring sides of riverdale. she has a small circle of friends and they make their own fun however they see fit.
she’s quiet and shy around people she doesnt know, but under the right circumstances (re: when she’s just the right amount of inebriated) ari is lively and comfortable. she loves music and supports her younger brother and his band in all of their creative endeavors.
ari, or any of the midtown kids, don't really care about who lives where and how much money they have, so she takes really well to fangs when the two of them are paired up together for a project in english class. what starts out seeming like some sort of “punishment” from the teacher, ends up being something really beautiful
Ari and horror au
in a horror scenario, ari would definitely be the first one to realize that something was off. living in midtown had exposed her to lots of strange, liminal energy and she wasn't unused to the vague, constant feeling of someone or something watching her. she has sharp eyes; notices what lingers in distant corners and she hears the creaks and thumbs of what’s approaching.
all i’ve been dreaming about is you (fangs fogarty x oc)
A/N: a little quarantine-themed Something i wrote in my notes app at 2am, loosely inspired by this song!
ari lays on her bedroom floor with her back against the cold hard wood that made goosebumps pop up on the backs of her knees, her phone idling beside her on the floor next to her as fangs shuffled around on the other line. she can hear the springs of his mattress squeak and ari can’t help but wonder if fangs was feeling the same ache in his bones as she was. the fogarty house was off limits, nobody came and nobody left. the kids from midtown had taken to streetlight meetings, sharing cigarettes before anyone’s parents realized they were gone. both ari and fangs are silent for a long but comfortable moment; there’s nothing left to talk about because all days look and feel the same. the stillness is almost suffocating, the air inside their bedrooms becoming so thick it feels like they’d get stuck in it. fangs is going stir-crazy. fangs wishes things were back to the way they were. fangs has been growing his hair out.
ari listens and nods, she knows what it feels like to be suspended in time; how things move too slow yet so fast, and how no one can come up with a reason why. when time stops, what happens? how do you breathe when the walls that are closing in on you are what keeps you safest of all? fangs waxes poetic about the days before time stood still, when the two of them would walk to pop’s after school, when they’d gather with their friends and take everything for granted. fangs says if he had it his way, they’d get lost somewhere in the woods together and would refuse to come out until all this shit was over. “that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” fangs says he’ll have to teach her every card game he knows so they can pass the time. fangs talks about making dinner for the two of them and cuddling up by some grand fireplace. fangs asks ari if she misses him. i miss you is more than a complex emotion these days, it’s the physical withdrawal at the loss of something you thought was balancing on your fingertips. ari’s too stoned to want to say much, the squished up end of her joint is still barely smoldering where she stubbed it out against the collection of burn marks on her windowsill. she closes her heavy eyelids and listens to whatever music she could hear fangs playing in the background. “all i’ve been dreaming of is you”
is anybody still out there? do you hear it too?
winter:
the snow makes the silence so much more unbearable. it envelopes midtown in a thick layer of grey-white slush that wets sneakers and freezes toes ice cold. no one walks home alone anymore. the sign in front of the grossout looks brighter nowadays. the green neon reflects off of the snowbanks and it basks the area in a harsh glow that makes the old grocery store look two parts inviting and one part ominous. when the “midtown three” ditch class they smoke cigarettes to keep warm. they don’t know if they’re blowing out cigarette smoke or breath fog. ari and nadya skip the musical that year, decide that the sissy spacek version of carrie was the only one that mattered. after they hear about what happened to midge, they’re glad they opted out. the two sides of town go to war again, and this time there’s a casualty. love makes people do stupid things, and so does fear. fangs fogarty dies, but really doesn’t die, and ari asks him how that makes him feel. nadya looks like an angel in the snow, draped in a leather jacket far too big for her petite frame. her lipstick is smeared and her smile is wry and maybe this meant that good things could get better. there’s a few weeks where its too cold to hang out at the tracks; everyone feels aimless without being attached to their anchor. dead ophelia puts out an album and ari cries the first time she hears it, proud that the fruits of her brother’s labor are paying off. abandoned houses are the perfect place for album-release shows. dima tries not to think about all of the people entreating on the one space that truly feels like his own. cherry blossoms didn’t smell sweet anymore. ari was starting to hate the color red. saw how blood looked when it mixed with the stark white of the snow. it was sterile, like the hospital. when they found her they couldn’t tell if she’s breathing; it’s hoarse, too shallow. winter was the season of reconsidering; what did i do to deserve that? why do i feel like this? how do i take comfort in my identity when it’s ever-changing? nadya refused to go back to the gas station. she refused to get out of bed some days. she refused to inhabit a body that was so grotesquely violated. winter breaks relationships into fractals, like the ice on top of shadow lake. when nadya can’t help but retreat, ari ventures out; finds out that girls taste sweet but boys do too. fangs fogarty was golden in every sense of the word. he brought the kind of warmth that was needed to break the time-capsule stagnancy around midtown. he and ari pass around a flask of cinnamon whiskey. it stings when they kiss but no one really minds. “i think you’re the type of person who could keep me warm.” fangs doesn’t ask what she means. dima asks abraham if he any “friends” who could sell him a gun. when he gets it he does target practice in fox forest and balances glass bottles on old tree stumps; he like the sound it made when the bullets broke through the glass. liked how it looked when the thick glass rained down from the broken bottles. christmas was good…almost too good, like maybe the world had finally decided to cut the three kids some slack. they’re all too anxious to enjoy it, caught up in the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. friends fight. it’s ugly, they know how to hit where it hurts. friends fight but they always make up; it’s a white-flag peace offering, ari walking across the street in her slippers with a bottle of wine and an 8th of weed tucked into her backpack. she knows that she’ll be welcomed warmly, knows better than to make idle conversations in the foyer. three knocks on nadya’s bedroom door: one for herself, one for nadya, and one for dima too. the two girls skip the pointless apologies, both slipping under the covers of nadya’s big bed. ari braids nadya’s hair like always, finishes off the thick plait with a pink hairband. nadya uncorks the bottle of wine with her teeth, she doesn’t really like white wine but it’ll do. dima knocks on the wall to announce that he’s coming over, that his sister and his best friend better make room for him. it’s a moment that feels right, and things haven’t felt “right” in a very long time. new years eve comes around too quickly, but that’s what happens when time passes right before your very eyes. you can’t keep up with time, and you don’t want to catch up to time. ari and nadya are an immovable unit, creeping around the masses of riverdale high students that were crowded into the living room at reggie mantle’s house, counting down the seconds to midnight. the girls do bumps of ketamine off of ari’s car keys. dima bought some pills; he’s laying on the mantle family’s manicured lawn staring at the moon and complaining that the world feels too heavy, and he’s right. gus katz and his best friend robbie are hit by a drunk driver. new year’s day is spent in the ICU. recklessness was no longer as enticing, no longer felt like second nature. actions had consequences, healing took time. spring would be better. they would all try harder. they would have to.
👀
1. It’s a blue house with ivy. One of the only two-story houses along the cul-de-sac. Once upon a time, a happy married couple purchased the big house with the hopes of raising a big family. Daniel Katz, a playwright from upstate New York, married Anette Bernier, a teacher from Montmartre. They met abroad in Montreal, both pursuing creative endeavors that resulted in their paths crossing. At the end of their third date, Daniel told Anette that one day he was going to marry her, and he did.
2. Big houses are not good places for little boys. Abraham is born under a Scorpio moon with mischief in mind. He likes to nose around the empty bedrooms filled with boxes, the nursery, the closest. He likes to poke around in the tissue paper of birthday and Christmas present bags, likes to pick things up and shake them to see if he can figure out what he was getting. Abraham’s curiosity will always get the better of him.
an exploration of home: katz family edition (midtown au)
midtown sounds (revisited); what are we to do once everything goes quiet?
“i haven’t been feeling myself lately...”
“that means it’s finally starting to catch up to you”
“what is?”
“here”
TTYL: morabeza tobacco // take off ur pants: indigo de souza // 4 am insecurities: olivia o. // die: acid ghost // edit the sad parts: modest mouse // i would hate you if i could: turnover // the father complex: many rooms // happy life: roland faunte // young adult: ritt momney // ribs: lorde // i like that you can see it: girlpool // she’s the prettiest girl at the party, and she can prove it with a solid right hook: frank iero // personal hell: kim petras // AA: the neighbourhood watch // strange time: matt maltese // bohemian groove, pt. 1 (invitation): will connolly // broadripple is burning: margot and the nuclear so and so’s // stuck: day wave // school shooter: wych elm // tired and uninspired: my american heart // grafitti: dog trainer // drinking games: silver sphere // i go to sleep: anika // loading screen: jank // all the lonely nights in your life: american pleasure club // the lake: labrinth // how i get myself killed: indigo de souza
vistors beware, time is of the essence, and time is never what it seems. listen here if you dare.
@themidtowners @thebetterjonesboy
When taking a visit to Midtown:
(a collaborative effort between @s-s-southsideserpentine and @thebetterjonesboy, inspired by the style of @hgk477)
1. Take in the scenery. The lush trees and scenic views of the sunset are one of the only things the two block-radius has to offer.
2. Notice the layout. The six small houses tucked next to the train tracks, the eerily empty shopping center beckons you with its green-lit warnings. The fog looms in thick clouds over the ground, no matter the weather that day.
3. Don’t comment about how quiet it is there, they already know. For a neighborhood that parallels the train tracks, you sure never see the train passing through. Late at night when you hear a train whistle in the distance, ask yourself whether or not this is a fever dream.
4. Tell yourself that it isn’t; that you were hearing the next freight shipment from the Blossom Maple Farm. Make yourself believe it.
5. When you need to buy yourself groceries, take a visit to the Grocery Outlet. Don’t ask the locals why they call it the “grossout”. It’s better that you not know.
6. Before you enter into the tiled, timeless cavern that is the grossout, pull out your stopwatch. You’ll want to know how much time you really spent in there.
7. When you reach into the dairy fridge to grab yourself some milk, don’t question the hands that come from behind in order to slide you the last quart of 2%. They know more than you know…ask them questions.
8. If you find yourself needing to use the restroom, you might find that it’s in your best interest to reconsider. If you’re brave enough to venture into the depths of the great unwashed, knock on the door three times before you check the handle.
9. If it’s unlocked, it means they welcome you. Try your best to drown out the drip-dropping sounds of sourceless water that echoes throughout the grey-tiled restroom.
10. As you make your way up to Buddy at register one, mind the shadows. They follow you as you bob and weave between the produce section and the deli, but vanish the second you check over your shoulder.
11. When you hand the cashier your sweaty, crumpled-up dollar bills, don’t look him in the eye. He doesn’t like when people stare at his scar. Drop your change in the tip jar, whisper a thank-you to him.
12. He and all the other spirits appreciate it.
13. Upon exiting the grossout, pull out your stopwatch. Did you spend more time in there than you thought? Less? It’s quite funny, isn’t it? How time seems to escape you here. Nevertheless, we hope you enjoy your stay.
14. If you find your clothes in need of a wash, follow the dull glow down the block. It’ll lead you to “Stop n’ Wash”, the local laundromat.
15. It’s often hard to distinguish the tired churn of the machines and droning buzz from the static silence of the dreary town.
16. Keep an eye on the clock on the wall, locals murmur about how they swear it never moves. There’s a reason the unofficial slogan is “Stop n Wash, where time stops and your clothes might get washed.”
17. The locals sit as they wait, at most a quiet hum of conversation, often nothing but the whitenoise. During the day sometimes there’s a faint breeze of 90’s grunge drifting through the background. Old magazines, tattered books, earbuds and hoods, the blaring light of a cell phone against a face you swear you saw once in a town across the state.
18. That shadow in the corner lingers. Vaguely shaped of a person, you might look to a local in alarm. They won’t take notice of you, so you’ll look back. The shadow isn’t there any longer and the skin on the back of your neck will begin to crawl as the hair on your arms starts to stiffen.
19. The air will begin to feel thick, like you’re trying to breathe in molasses. As you begin to feel like you’re suffocating, not understanding how everyone is unphased, you’ll stand and try to leave.
20. If you can’t find the door, wait for the lights to flicker. The 3rd bulb in the first row will flicker twice before the 1st bulb in the 2nd row flickers once. The doors will be there, waiting. The exit sign searing your dilated pupils.
21. If you feel the gaze of a hundred pairs of eyes on your back as you leave, don’t panic. They’re just curious, harmless though unsettling. Don’t look back, Orpheus was warned and you ought to heed the advice he chose not to. Tales are told for a reason.
22. Don’t pause in the doorway, just go. Didn’t your mother always tell you it was bad luck? You really mustn’t question so much whilst your visit continues on.
23. If you’re lucky enough to have brought your car with you, the gas station is the best place to go for cigarettes and a cheap fill up.
24. When you get out of your car, roll up your windows. Lock your doors. Don’t make eye contact.
25. As you approach the dimly-lit convenience store that’s attached to the local Gas & Go, look down. The masses of old men that flock around it’s doors lick their chops as you approach.
26. If you ask any of the locals, they’ll sadly admit that said group of men rarely leave their sidewalk perch. It’s been the same group of men for years. Nothing seems to change.
27. Hair gets greyer, beards get longer, but their unsettling presence is constant. Keep to yourself and you’ll be safe.
28. Every time you step foot inside the small store, the man behind the counter will great you with a startled, “You alright?”, as if he himself cannot fathom another person setting foot inside.
29. Nod your head and smile. Fake it if you have to. Pay for your carton of cigarettes, tell him $20 on pump #2. Hand him your card and nod appreciatively when he passes you the receipt.
30. Look at his name tag. Some say the only thing that changes about the man behind the counter is the name sewn into his starched shirt.
31. Walk quickly back to your car. Sit in the driver’s seat as your tank fills up.
32. Don’t forget to lock your doors.
33. If you are unable to afford the luxury of your own car, don’t fret, public transportation is always an option. The red and blue lights of the bus stop are welcoming and unsettling all in one.
34. Sit on the cold metal bunch until you realize that the bus is never coming.
35. If you see the headlights crawling through the fog, you might want to rub your eyes. It came long before you arrived, and won’t come again until long after you leave.
36. Some of the locals joke about how they swear sometimes the destination bar on the front of the vehicle reads “nowhere”, but the emptiness behind their eyes will leave you with the haunting feeling they might not be joking as much as they’d like to think they are. Laugh along, humor them. They need it.
37. As you make your way back to whatever godforsaken place you’ve managed to find lodging for the night, don’t worry too much about the rustling coming from the brush. The locals tend to gather in the shadows, singing songs in mother tongues.
38. If you find yourself unable to fall asleep, do not worry.
39. Check the clock on the old wood bedside table. Through the thick layer of dust you can see the neon red numbers, 00:00. Don’t think too much about it.
40. Remember, time is fleeting here. If it exists, it’s certainly not linear.
fall:
nothing ever changes, but then it all changes at once. the leaves turn dark orange but the grey light of the sun over the rain-soaked cement washes the color out to a gloomy, murky brown. nadya’s been smoking more lately, no one has the heart to call her out on it. school’s only been in session for a couple months now and dima’s already getting threatened with the possibility of suspension, a class-a truant. breakfast was iced coffee and lunch was a bag of chips from the vending machine in the student lounge. the three friends hole themselves up in the french classroom at lunch and ari spends most of her time grading papers for her mom’s classes. cheryl blossom’s is the only quiz in the stack with a neat red star scrawled in the top right corner. sometimes they wait at the bus stop in the mornings before school, passing around a cigarette before realizing the bus wasn’t gonna come any time soon…recklessness was already second nature, like a second skin pulled tight to the body to keep warm on the back of a motorcycle. they all spend more money on weed now, it’s the easiest way to coast through the monotony. nadya has to sit on top of ari in order to put eyedrops in her eyes but both of them are laughing too hard for it to be effective. the girls have sleepovers on the weekends and they wake up entangled in each others goosebumped arms. weekend plans included trespassing, there’s a house in the cul-de-sac who’s estate sale was long-forgotten. one year dima threw a brick through the window, and they’d been coming there ever since. ari backs her car into a pole and doesn’t tell anyone about it, surveys the damage and cries on the bathroom floor when she gets home. dima only sleeps in class because he doesn’t sleep at night anymore. nadya rubs her fingers lightly over the purpling skin and tells him that she’s not resting easy anymore either. there’s a mouth-shaped bruise on her neck and a poem on the tip of her tongue. everything she sees is bathed in hues of gold. ari goes through five pairs of pointe shoes in one month, she’s been adding up the calories in her head and is getting a little too good at quick addition. she’s second soloist in the fall program and her mother says, good job, but why not first solo? boys from the southside prove to be pretty good company. they don’t understand the tedium that comes with treading water in small lake that flows between two vast oceans. but they will eventually. homework becomes all-consuming, college is something that is becoming more tangible and the aura of uncertainty that plagues thoughts about the future isn’t as easily ignored. the timelessly wrinkled faces of the old men who plague the stuccoed wall outside of the gas station twist into sinister smiles as the girls walk by. they wave and taunt, it’s enough to make them pick up their pace every time. red starts looking like ari’s favorite color. red hair, red lipstick. that’s when things were good for awhile. when everyone was first thought that love was so close you could reach out and touch it. nadya starts asking ari to play more music in french, it’s what she thought romance sounded like. they were jaded. they were bored. there’s a halloween party at the big house on the hill, more good than bad happens there for once. nadya was dressed as an angel, ari was dressed as the devil. dima brings his polaroid camera and takes grainy photos while they all smoked joints rolled with cherry-flavored papers. they take a detour on the way home by walking through the cemetery, dima throws up behind a headstone and spends the rest of the late evening hours blubbering about how he should’ve rinsed it down because he didn’t wanna be disrespectful. it rains for three days straight and it feels a little harder to get out of bed. at the tracks, the trio are all laying head to foot on the stained mattress and watching as the illuminated water droplets race down the glass panes of the cracked window. the two sides are at war again and this time there are some casualties. usually people stay dead, but not this time. the boy with the golden smile and pure intentions seems a lot more fragile than he’s ever been. snakes bite hard. nadya falls hard and there’s someone there to catch her, with rough hands and gruff tones and a bad attitude. ari gets caught kissing cheryl blossom and she suddenly misses the sensation of being invisible. the wind is bitter now, stings cheeks and noses until they’re red and raw. the leaves are falling and the cracked, cold limbs of tree branches aren’t the only things that are breaking.