Xia | Gloryhole

"Who are you?" she asked the hole.

She reached into her pocket. No coin. Just a crumpled receipt and a dried-out pen. gloryhole xia

The whisper softened. "I am the in-between. The forgotten listener. Every laundromat, every bus station, every hospital waiting room at 3 AM—I am there. People push their loneliness through small holes. Coins, yes. But also secrets. Also the crumbs of their lives. I give back stories. Not answers. Stories. Because stories are the only thing that makes the waiting bearable." "Who are you