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The air in Flagstaff was too thin for the secrets I was trying to keep, every breath dragging the scent of pine and his skin deep into my lungs.
The diesel engines hummed beneath the floorboards, a low-frequency growl that shook the marrow of their bones as they moved together.
I remember the way the spine of that first edition cracked, a sound like a dry branch snapping under the weight of August humidity.
There’s a specific kind of silence in a bookstore at midnight, a density of unread words that feels like a physical weight against your skin.
!["Keep Your Eyes on the Knife"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"keep-your-eyes-on-the-knife"-474-cover-1775998845624.jpg)
He tasted like the last bit of crusty bread used to swipe a plate of debris—salt, fat, and the ghost of a good red wine.