
The Rockies
She came at me strong. And unexpectedly. Her notifications hit different on that 517 Saturday; I was already off the chain and running. Because it was another unsupervised night, bleeding inexcusably into another stupid Michigan Sunday. So I was surprised by a rare interference in the drunken tick-tock rhythm of my irresponsibility. It seemed somehow significant. And influenced damaging intentions—I was alone at the bar. Again. Punishing myself for the inexcusable oversight of somehow being alive. I saw the missed messages. The ones initially left unanswered, despite the fingered intimacy of a quick pull-down peek. Because I didn’t know how to respond. I read a few of the words. An overdue tag-along link to a requested song provided a new sound. Reactionary emoticons decorated coloured boxes …
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