21 December 2015
This is a perfect example of what attracts me to The Awl so much. I just feel like you don’t see stuff like this on sites of it’s size. Please do pass on any quirky recommendations on par with The Awl.
He is alone, the parents gone in the morning. It is nothing to him. He revels in their tedious wake. Eats milk and cream. Breaks and steals property and rubs himself in oils strange. He sleeps ’til near the sun’s noonhigh meridian, his whited hair splintered and splayed like some infernal broomhead. At night he carnivals with dervish fervor, watches plays of mindless violence. He is wild and drunken, bestial, howling into the darkling primordial. There is no echo. He is a changeling.