2300

Her eyes were on fire.

Blinking didn’t bring any relief and the rocking of the subway car was adding nausea to the mix.

Vodka was a bad choice she thought in soft fuzzy focus, wrapped in barbed razor wire.

Gin, and less of it, would’ve been better.

The car finally made a stop.

She stared out the window and mused.

Public spaces, subway cars, parks, stadiums, lobbies – they all moved with similar tempo.

People go left, people go right, stand up, sit down, and keep on moving.

Sea sickening really.

What time is it?

A thought nagged at the edge of her awareness.

The sliding outside didn’t help.

Lights smearing past by the sudden lurch of the car.

A newsstand, a TTC sign, some dude sipping a coffee.

And then it hit.

‘Wheres my phone?’

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