007

If I could explain why the stove works, I would. But I have no idea. Mostly, it fuels an anxiety every morning that I manage to wake up.

“Is today the day?”

“Wake up, time to die.”

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008

The mushrooms in the ceiling are getting worse.

“I should fix that.” I say as a drop of browned, scummed water cannonballs itself into my open eyeball.

“Fuck you too then.”

“Got ‘em, babe.”

009

I can’t tell if the bed is damp, or just cold.

“Both, probably.”