I did not sleep last night. The rat was scurrying up and down walls, laughing. Thoughts were chasing their tails. Conversations were on repeat. 2:45 in morning smiled cocky. 4:30 didn’t give me a second glance. The night was not humble in victory, and I was not magnanimous in defeat.
The morning was a snow-globe, a light dusting concealed frozen sidewalks: every step precarious. Slips triggered tantrums—impotent rage swinging to self-pity. Ice was evidence of a cosmic sadist who chuckled at the lack of security knit into the human condition.
The treachery of snow on ice put me on my ass where I surveyed the day with a shiver.