Eddie Yettian was dead, maybe. You could never tell with that guy. He was always getting lost, going missing. Living on the existential precipice, as it were. He didn’t feel alive unless he was on the precarious edge of death. He always came back, though. Bedraggled, quieted, neutered or haunted, but back. And he alwaysContinue reading “Dead in a Dump Somewhere”
Crumbling Asphalt 