It Was A Mid-Week, Easy-To-Pass-Up Morning, With Trash Trucks, Sky-Writes, A Very Paranoid Neighborhood, And Missing Paperboys.

Even if the room was all exhaust, I kept the window closed when I left, blinds down, not ready to look the world in the face.

It was so soon for us, I thought.

My hair brushed the lower part of my shoulders that didn't bruise anymore. I wore a broken dress and an ankle-bracelet over striped-tights for what I didn't want to do or face or look at today.

Now. Sun blare. On the right. I put my back to it, go down the street toward the hills, walking on a rise that felt heavy and full of import-film importance. The sleep-loss was bad, and I hated saying it out loud. It was like watching this thing happen. When I went into the idea, disappearing was easy, but we're in the middle of it now, I'm in the middle of it now, even if I think we need to see different worlds and stop opening up the future before I'm out of nights to go.