(a broken record)

(Another day. Another week. Could barely remember what day it was. What month it was.

It didn’t matter. It was all the same. The morning coffee. The food. The internet. The evening booze. The bright, flickering screens. The dreamless sleep.

The heat was crippling. The air was toxic. All the day’s plans wilted, melted, evaporated. Like yesterday’s.

There was still enough money. For now. Nothing to spend it on anyhow, except staying alive, for what that was worth.

Days passed. Age. Weight. Just more numbers to track.

The dirt, the noise, the damage. It stopped things moving, deflected them, knocked them backwards.

And then it all started over, with a little more wear, a little less energy, and little less hope than last time.)