S. Taylor writes and works in Vancouver in a caffeine-fuelled delirium. If she has any spare time she spends it plotting her getaway.
S. Taylor
Dispatches
Wet Dragonflies
When I met you, one floor up from the acute psychosis ward, you were wearing a paper shower cap and green pyjamas just like mine. You glared at me through the crowd because you thought I had your hoodie on. But we just had very similar hoodies.
