Later that evening, she fled. She fled with her eyes closed to the nearest abandoned weigh station. I warned her to wear a blindfold to muffle from the cold, but she scarcely knew my voice. I ran out to remind her of something long-forgotten, but…

Now is the time for twilight. Now is the time for the mincing of words. Now is a day of embellishment. I’m breathing recirculated air, trying to breathe in happenstance. I make sure my stomach is always churning as I turn my head slightly to the left. A moving truck passes by, carrying my worldly former possessions. They never really satisfied me.

So I took to the streets. The saddest part about these streets is the beleaguered starkness.

Yearning and repulsion. If one outweighs the other, the organism will wallow. This was not going as planned.

Dinner was overcooked. Words were minced. Wine uncorked, but still breathing in the recirculated air.

It’s been like this for weeks now.