I woke, like fabled Nebuchadnezzar, from a dream I could not remember and the whole day that followed was filled with auguries I could not interpret and omens I could not understand:
The day began with broken plants and scattered dirt. Methodist bells chimed for blood and ancient sacrifices. The sky was heavy with clouds and the threat of rain. The air was full of clanging alarms but no trains. There were strange numbers for unfamiliar places as I walked in circles all over town. I was here before and will be again. I had time to think, but no time to write; time to drink and get into fights.
But still I managed to do some of each. I sent futile messages into the void, hoping for a response of rejection or repayment. But expecting neither. And at the end of it all, I stitched myself together as best I could with needle and thread purchased at the dollar store and made dinner for two. I went for a walk into the gloaming but turned back before dark.
I am overdrawn and underslept. And I worry about tomorrow.
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