I do not rise to my body on the surface, but rather slip deeper into the dream, figuring it probably time for me to go – as there is no recovering from this. My family is in danger, my connection to them even more so.

I can hear it down there. Deeper, maybe China, or Australia. The old man’s tool. A groaning in the depths. A really heady instrument. Extinction locked in death. The phantom’s organ. A typewriter.

Purely ink.

Just a subway trip away.

“They don’t even deserve me anymore…” I say. “What have they done for me, but attack and distrust?”


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