The Bloody Doors Off

It’s 12:30 am and I’m having coffee.

There’s a buzz in my head. If I strain, listen past the static, I can hear one of the characters whispering.

He’s unapologetically politically incorrect. Like, wow. I’m not sure what part of my brain he’s from, definitely my darker side. But there’s no filter in him. Absolutely none.

He’s deeply offensive. And necessary.