Adventure
Outdoor passion, travel encounters, spontaneous locations
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The AV Closet in Porter Hall
You are standing by the punch bowl like a martyr waiting for a stake, and frankly, the martyrdom is making me incredibly wet.
—she was holding a book she wasn’t reading
The ice in her cup had melted into a flat, gray slurry, but she kept stirring it with a plastic straw, looking at me like I was a problem she was looking forward to solving.
Fast Slow
He tracked the line of her throat like a melody he’d been humming for a decade but finally found the words for.
Silas’s Flask
The scaffolding groaned beneath us, a rusted skeleton articulating our shared sins against the backdrop of a cold, indifferent New England sky.
September 22nd, 9:14 PM
He tasted like expensive bourbon and the kind of trouble that leaves you with a permanent kink in your lower back.