Coming home.

The screechy subway noises near Union Station.

A picture of a man, framed, in a bar on Wednesday night. His eyes were opened wide like he was just about to get run over by a car and I couldn't look at them. I had to switch seats.

My phone ringing just now.

The pattern of a streetlight on my ceiling, looking like bony fingers and making me dig deeper into my covers.

The wind.

Wet garbage on the streets during a storm.

The smell of dead flowers in the lecture hall.

The woman with big hair that asked me for directions.

His arm around me, falling, breathing vodka into my face.

The lego man with no head beside my computer.

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