February 16, 2003
In that sliver of light, he puts on his clothes. Dust and skin mix with the light as he pulls on his socks. It seems very late in the day but he is just now going through the rituals. Hunched over the bed, half dressed, he looks at the floor and sees days of clothes. Washed, dirty, filthy. He looks out and the streets are empty. The inertia of the town has escaped him and now, he will be entering into a foreign momentum. He dresses and makes plans for the day. What is left of it. The door creaks.