The buzz has become a constant. The hum of the air conditioner, the whir of the refrigerator. The high pitched whine of the fluorescent lights.
She sits on the floor, back against the hardwood cupboards, legs splayed out in front of her. Her palms are sticky with summer sweat; wrap them around a container of ice cream. The fibers of the carpet tickle her calves. Almost a rug burn, but it doesn’t hurt yet.
She looks up as her life passes her by.
You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response.
1 Response
mm mmmm ehmmm mmmemmm hmm mm ice cream.