These work days are extraordinarily demeaning.
We were talking about leaving New York. Because it sucks, obviously, and everyone always wants to sit next to you…because there’s an extra stretch of plastic, not because it’s you, come on. My head is pounding, I don’t know why I do these things time after time, but I do. I suppose it’s because they’re just as necessary as everything else and something about killing the hours I can’t sleep away. Today is an opaque light grey and I wish the mist would take me. I feel like we should be able to sleep these days away. Yeah, if you wake up and it isn’t bright and sunny go back to bed. The twenty-fourth needs to come sooner. I need a change of scenery. The trash looks better covered in snow.
A man called me over to him the other day, told me that I was a ray of sunshine, that he was lucky to have seen me smile. What he does not know is my teeth are the metal bars of a jail cell and that I am a magician pulling colored ribbon out through my mouth by the yards that I am left to gather at day’s end, and with which I entangle myself at night. Choking on accountability.
The dust you kicked in my face before you forgot to say goodbye. You forgot to say anything at all.
"Oh, that’s all right. I’m through with you," said Margot blandly, and walked away.