Sleepwalking With The Red Cards
The words that hit my brain tell me that whoever’s on the other end of the phone needs me to tell them something, so that things can be made”ready” for whatever it is I’m doing today. I’d really like to give them some creative profanity instead, but it’s early and I’ve practically forgotten how to talk. I hear my gravel-and-salt voice scrape together five words:”Bring me The Red Cards.”
Mornings never feel right. Particularly not the godless, seven-of-the-A-M kind of mornings. The kind that figure prominently in brainwashing scenes…
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