“I don’t think this is coming out of the ground, man,” Blake insisted. He put his might and fury into the task, pulling the metal pole, trying to free it from the ground. I was smoking a cigarette, conscious of the neighbors spying form their windows. “Did you try just pulling the actual sign from the pole?” In the midst of a light drizzle, Blake gave me a tired look. He leaned on the sign with one arm, and motioned for a drag of my cigarette. I handed it to him, and shoved my hands in my po...

Being alone isn’t something I’ve ever handled well… and come to think of it, it’d never been a problem until two weeks after Blake’s latest absconding. If idle hands are the devil’s workshop, one can only imagine what works could be done with a hollow heart. Rotting away in my room, with only the company of my bass guitar, I had quickly forgotten how it felt to reign over the word – to own it. In two weeks’ time, I had switched gears – spun a web of depression I had no idea how to pull mysel...