In a darker corner of the convention a booth babe motions to hand you something, but stops. Her eyes unfocus and her shoulders slack. Her knees fidget and her hips kick out. Displays, barely audible above blaring EDM, reveal why. Still convulsing, She me
(F4A) Within the dimly lit basement, the rough edges of concrete pillars loom around me like silent sentinels. The industrial-style light hanging overhead casts an intense beam on my form, making the shadows dance on the unfinished walls. My breathing is
