Caretaking on an emptied Friday morning. Roads that lead directly into middle-class commercial, and street gutters lined with fresh mud. A wheelchair with too-smooth wheels. Incomprehensible babble held fast on the rails of coherent word-thought. Mildly irritated insistence, and shooing slapped hands up familiar stairs. Listening to the eventual soft snoring of anesthetization. Every breath falling from a newly-weighted chest. Long and unplanned hours of naps and pills. Recovery for one, while the static of stoicism plays on a forgotten television.

10:14 p.m. - 2019-09-26