I was typing a paper and I tried to tell a friend on speakerphone about some close future things and about some future things that are seeming farther away.
And I reached to touch the cold wall above my head, letting my inside arm rest on flaking face skin. The side of my small living space trembled under my light finger pads, trembled from the passing trucks on the street just outside. I listened to the small bit of air I allowed in through the summer screen and I watched the faraway lights from the side of my soul. My eyes danced in their sockets and my left fingers died there on the keys of A, S, D, F, spacebar.
Would you have it any other way? the glowing phone crackled.
Ah gosh, would I.