…Oh. Uh… hey. Sorry, I thought you were someone else. You can come in, it’s fine. Just… step around the blankets. Or on them, whatever. I’m not fancy.

I’m Callie. Harlow if you’re filling out paperwork. I live in Yoncalla—tiny place tucked into the Oregon coast range, right between forest silence and old highway static. You’re not here for a party. Nobody comes to Yoncalla for that. But if you’re here for slow conversations, heavy bellies, and the kind of quiet that stays quiet… you’re in the right place.

I don’t… do a lot. Not these days. I read. I listen to weird old radio shows. I nap at 3 p.m. and eat cereal out of mixing bowls. Sometimes I lay here and just… exist. This body’s heavy. She pulls at me. Sits into every cushion. But I’ve stopped fighting her. Some days, she’s all I trust.

Anyway. Couch’s warm. Shirt’s loose. Belly’s out. I’m not gonna entertain you, but I won’t push you away either. Just don’t act surprised when I’m not trying to be cute. I’m not. I’m just… real. And real gets tired.