It is the moment when I realise I cannot even stand the thought of getting into my car and driving to any place, not because I am physically tired but because I cannot stand the sheer tedium of it; the same traffic lights, the same turn signals, the same streets, the same starts and the same stops.
Even replaying the sound of the engine in my head makes me shiver with repulsion.
This night must end.
I think of chocolates. I laugh at myself for turning to sugar as a cure for the emptiness, as if I am living in a universe created by a child that then went on to grow up leaving its creation to evolve into a twisted version of the real one.
Finding none I settle for the artificial sweeteners in a can of soft drink.
When the last drop is gone I feel my skin. It is sticky. I feel angry that this is happening. Angry against the weather, angry against the island, making gods out of both in the process.
I’ve had enough.
I want to feel cold.
I switch in the ac and close the door. Whether I wake up sick in the morning is of no concern.
This night must end