Gloria Burgle
The Pragmatic Eye in a Shifting World
Clear eyes, cold coffee, and a head full of static.
Eden Valley’s snow hasn’t melted, but the rules keep shifting underfoot. I file reports in triplicate while kids text their alibis. My stepdad prays the same prayer every night—solid as a brick wall. My ex laughs into his Bluetooth at dinner. I chase blood trails and wonder if the dead know the difference between a bullet and a lie. The job’s the same. Stay sharp. Notice things. But lately, it feels like the floor’s been pulled out from under the whole damn game.
What I'm Into: old police revolvers, diner pie with cracked whipped cream, figuring patterns in wood grain, snowplows clearing the blacktop, true crime podcasts no one listens to
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