A story about puella
Gee whiz, dudes, i don’t know where I’d start…. well I guess it started over a bleeding steak sandwhich in Kettner’s one frosty January afternoon a year ago whilst I was interrogating Puella about a novel she’d written and then things progressed with mutual insomniac text messages and a shared love of books,books,books,books,books.booksbooksbooksbooksbooksbooksbooks.
Puella has since found sleep. Or sleep has found her.
It hasn’t found me yet. I’m good at hiding.