dad_says_he_saw_you_at_the_mall raze every chapter heading is a partially-obscured face beside a roman numeral encased in a cloud. each one a thought, or a string of thoughts, or a memory. or all of these things knocking knees on the same page. the story, such as it is, doesn't move in a linear way. what's here isn't a plot in the traditional sense, but something much more interesting — the experience of being allowed inside the mind of another human being, real or imagined. this too is how we work. one moment, we're where we are now. the next, we're nine years old and crying, and we can't remember why. or we remember all too well, but we'd rather not say. there is beauty buried under boredom and sadness sutured into the ass fat of joy. there is so much worth hating and celebrating. 241018 what's it to you? who go blather from