THE DUMPSTER KID AND THE SCARRED SOLDIER
The stench of decay, a thick, cloying blanket woven from rotting produce, stale beer, and something vaguely metallic – the ghost of spilled blood, perhaps – clung to me like a second skin. It was the signature scent of the Eastside Landfill, and tonight, it was my undeserved perfume. I pressed myself deeper into the…