Day 1: Out of the (l)East

The alarm goes off at four am. I’m more alarmed than I ought to be.

I wake up feeling more burned out, more charred than shining. In my reflection, I see charcoal instead of the familiar face of myself. Rub eyes, slam terrible coffee, eat something you won’t recall in a couple of minutes. Banana pecan pancakes and a beef lasagna. That’ll sit well.

Into the cold. Did your wool socks dry? Is the car packed? Will the bikes go in boxes with helmets or am I wearing that?

We sorted this out last night, but then we slept on this high cloud, just running on adrenaline and hormones, sparking nerves and sliding skin past one another.  Three hours later, I’m furious, hung over, sick to my stomach. Half an hour to get it together.  Then, five minutes to the station. Four to board. Three to stand there listless, half-asleep, realising this is when, how, why the drugs set in.

Did I huff some white wash in my dreams because I feel half-dead right now.
Enough of this. Tomorrow we’ll be in a new state. By morning, a new city. By dusk, a new life.

This is the beginning of the rest of it.
Are you awake, yet?

In three and a half hours, we begin building this empire. On what? Fuck if I know.
Reality – how’s that for a change?

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