Young

The week stretched like a wound refusing to scab over. Days bled into each other with a sickening sameness, mornings spent scrubbing my skin raw in the shower, afternoons staring blankly at spreadsheets until the numbers dissolved into meaningless pixels. My keyboard collected a fine layer of coffee droplets where I’d zone out mid-sip, the liquid cooling unnoticed until my fingers brushed the mug’s ceramic chill. The bus window reflected my face back at me, pale and smudged with exhaustion, but movement beyond the glass snagged my attention. A leather jacket rounding a corner, broad shoulders unmistakable even at this distance. My breath fogged the pane as I pressed closer, but the crowd swallowed him before I could be sure. Just a trick of the light. Just paranoia chewing through my sanity like termites through …

The Gang part 3 Read More »