july 26, 2019

Driving M. home on the 210 freeway at night, except it's a winding back road in the Los Angeles hills rather than a multi-lane interstate. All of the lights on the freeway go out and then begin flickering in a monochrome white, highlighting strange figures scattered all over. Human-sized and larger, as if made of stone, with blunt beaks for heads. We name the big ones Shamblers.

I experience a feeling of regret that I have to drive him so far, only to drive back home alone like I used to do, ceaselessly, in a previous relationship.

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