Fragments from books that don’t exist: Shirt Sniffer


While sorting through the garbage, Candace found an app she’d downloaded months before and tossed aside. She opened it up and had to cover her nose because of the rotting smell. It reeked of piss, vinegar and deprecated opinions. Nothing could be more obsolete than rancid thoughts disposed of improperly. Among her contacts were several ex-friends and people whose existence she currently denied. One of those had the nerve to post images of side-by smiles. Two hundred and eleven thumbs were up. Candace closed the app and flushed it from her mind. The brain learns things, she told herself, and the things it learns can stick in there if you’re not careful. You have to curate your self, otherwise you’re only doing damage. She had not slept well that night, and it showed in the way she couldn’t remember what she’d intended to worry about first.


(bonus soundtrack:


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