Eleven

Eleven 29 o'clock in the evening and the room is still a mess.Basketball shoes, running shoes, Gatorade bottles and Torn-up papers from last semester probably strewn across The floor like deserted strangers, unnecessarily flung into abyssalApocalyptic wastelands of trash heaps and garbage disposals. Eleven at night and there's nothing to drink up but the Gatorade,And the sounds of … Continue reading Eleven