She dreams in clips.
A music video; she’s walking beside a stranger she loves terribly, they’re in an amusement park and laughing, on a rollercoaster and gasping.
Reaching up to the swirling sludge-puppy sky.
The sharp jabbing beeps of her alarm shock her into the deep end of her room.
Left with nothing but a headache and time running out before her boss calls to swoon into her ear his concerns and constructive bullshit, she quickly and inadequately washes up, bites into a piece of last nights pie and has her instant coffee on the go, almost spilling the black liquid down the stairs.
The sun’s too bright, the streets too loud, the walk way too hard, her clothes too close, what she wouldn’t do for a nap right now.
The blur of faces at work remind her of that rollercoaster, that stranger with a red tongue, and the foreign smile on her own face.
She pokes and prods her cheeks – hollow tombs for the flies.
Maybe it all becomes a type of drug, the lies and the ridicule of the world, and you take it all in. It does its job and you piss it out, shit it out.
The Virus of life.