by Chel Campbell Yang Shuo Sometimes I unfix my gaze in the bathroom mirror to see double, push grinning lightbulbs beyond their fragile containers. I want to perform the same magic with my tongue, crack myself open like a pistachio, tell a stranger everything just to have someone really know me no matter the cost. A few weeks ago, I stole a tube of chapstick, considered selling feet pics, got a tattoo of a gravestone that reads meh above my ankle. Yesterday was the greyest S