These stories grow in moldy corners and steep in the cheap liquor of rundown bars. Every dawn feels like a slap, smashing whatever pitiful hope the night before had left behind.
There is no salvation here, only survival: biting down, throwing yourself against the wall, tearing a blood-soaked path forward when all hope seems lost. By the time you reach the end, you’ll realize the scariest thing isn’t the suffering in these stories, but the words lodged in your throat as you close the book: “That’s just how the world is supposed to be.”
