Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

They live on the second floor. Not Luka, and I have not seen them before. They moved in during the quarantine, and from what I can surmise from the noise they make, they are 800 pound aliens from outer space, with eight legs, and hammers for fingers. They kill people, cut them up after midnight, …

Continue reading