In Cody Pomeray's Room
I wanted to play but wanted to watch more. Swatched in blue light and old music and a pilled blanket that wasn't mine. That island would look differently if I was in charge. I would not elect this. Responsible for spires upon spires of invisible real estate.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.