An undercurrent of cushion stains and discarded laundry.

Disheveled and profane, we are an extension of the seedy murk inherent to Murray Hall.

UPDATE 5/13/2017: The dread of dimming looms. Murraykin, as a species, stands at the edge of time's memorial void. We move on. Our underworld is defiled; the sterility of our sofas, the putridity of our yellowed walls, the shocking beast that lies above our oven, the defiled grave of our Jeffrey. We pack what memories we can.