A day of wound-licking. Watching the rain come down and pacing from window to window. The tang of ozone still in the air. We’re both jumpy, skittish, ill at ease.
How such a small disaster can claim you.
I should go for a walk or something, but it feels beyond me.
My neighbor has fired up his grinder. More Pakistani street dentistry sounds. That machine of his makes a noise that mimics exactly the mood I’m in right now.
Fuck me running.