The crows caw all the time now. It’s unnerving.
I yell at the crowd when I’m not feeling myself, and beg them to leave when I am.
The relentless jack of cortisol and histamine pounding both sympathetic systems along my spine.
It’s not the crows’ fault – each is working.
LOOK LOOK LOOK
Am I the only one in this club who prays when I hear relentless crows?
Maybe it’s easier to notice details when I’m folding napkins at the bar with my back to the party.
Seriously, learn the language of crows.
We spin alone in bed at night, troubled by the last doled potato liquifying in the humid pantry.
Soon the maggots will be born to feed on the rot.
It’s do or die count down, you know. (But don’t be afraid – it makes everything worse.) Three weeks and the last church sponsored beds on the ship to America will be filled.
From the outside, it must look like an easy choice. But I’ve seen the hatred that gets spit at immigrants. No matter what disaster is being fled.
I haven’t eaten in days. Not even a scrap of bread.
There are some that believe the British government infected our crops. I don’t have time for such thoughts.
My brain is rattled with nutritional deficiency.
The church will get a shipment of flour and chocolate tomorrow. I need to rest up to have the strength to stand in that line.
Two weeks ago it was six hours in the zapping sun.