Apex of Love
The way he didn't blink when I extended his pen, but he cataloged me like a column of figures that wouldn't balance.
You break it, you buy it. And you can't afford it.
I merge onto I-75. A semi blares air horns, and I wrench the wheel back into my lane, heart punching upward. Focus. Focus. But the highway unwinds dark and repetitive, and my brain loops the crouch, the silence, the heat that spilled down my neck into territory it had no jurisdiction.
The old Cass Avenue clock tower slides past on the right—graffiti at the base, clock face still telling time after decades of abandonment. Still standing. Still ticking. I look at it longer than I should.
Bab Populer