by Steven Holding

Skid Row: rock bottom of the barrel and the bottle. A place where every kind of bad dream has been and gone. Here, the dregs dredge up their sins; beg to escape the pain of sadness, seeking absolution from a damned mad god that’s seen all a man is capable of.

The spirit of the street itself.

Under its sacred gaze the scared and scarred are cared for, tightly held within the deity’s embrace of hazy nights and crazier days. Who would willingly choose such confusion?

Perhaps those few who know that what we feel to be real is illusion.

Steven Holding

Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. Most recently, his work has appeared in CTRL ALT DEL from Black Ink Fiction. You can follow his work at www.stevenholding.co.uk