i love it when a book smells like coffee. smells like cigarettes. like an unidentifiable existential crisis that i
just happen to hold in my hand. <<< breathe in. out. again. >>> when the edges are stained and crumpled.
smashed from a fistfight with recklessness or passion. <<< those are the same thing, right? >>> if this book
could bleed it would. if it could talk it would scream every word at me. and oh God. yes. i would let it.

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Read more about Tiffany Shaw-Diaz here: www.tiffanyshawdiaz.com

Photo: Syd Wachs