Countdown

A backpack, a bra, empty shoes, a scratching post, and dirty clothes.  Knotty carpets swell under my ankles, sweat collects under my arms, my toes wriggle on my cross-legged thighs, a small breeze brushes across my chin. The clacking of bugs, the whisper of cars, the continuous shout of the fan.  Faintly, there are ocean smells and I have to change the new litterbox.  I am alive.

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