late night tumblr is just you and a handful of mutuals sitting around a campfire, and one of you finds something and you all take turns presenting it to each other
Some afternoons she didn’t like to be there. The cluttered rooms felt like a smothering presence, a hand on her throat. She often felt she was surrounded by the odour of fly-blown trash, the stink of rot from nowhere, and a kind of ambiguous hostility hammering down upon her.
sleepliving 