The room was lit with candles, the walls were painted a deep crimson, and I found myself wandering down a long red-lit hallway to the scratching sounds of 1920s jazz being played from an old record. He appeared out of nowhere. His voice was choked with sobs when he finally spoke: "There's nothing I can do to save you." His eyes caught something gleaming, something hidden
On the night of the Full Moon, the sky opened in Brooklyn and the rain fell down. I was sorting though boxes of golden glitter fabric to decorate the altar at The House of Yes, and I hunched my body to stay under the roof, in an attempt to keep dry. The rain splattered my ankles and my feet through my sandals and