Anondyne

Pack your bag, your weekend bag, the little one, it sends a breezy message, it feels like a small thrill, and you'll take every break you can get. Walk halfway across the island to where the streets turn crooked, you know them like the back of your hand. Turn the sound off on your phone, you don't want to know what it's saying. A mess of white fur wraps itself around you, bottles of wine open, hours disappear in an alternate world you know as home. A full moon travels across the Village, everything lies quiet.

You hang on by a thin thread.

But you hang on.