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?’
Categories: prose
