of a night at a friend’s place

The blinds shut, the room pitch black, there is no ceiling to stare at, so I press the palms on the orbits and follow the light spots.

The edge close, the floor one roll away, there is nowhere else to go, so I hang the arm out of the blanket and let the cold wrap my hand.

The cars passing by have a speed and a direction. They set the pace of the world I drift through.

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