I groan. A weight on my shoulder that wasn’t there before makes itself known. Someone shakes me awake.
I can’t do this. I need to focus on the road before us. But the partially chipped and broken signs on the sidewalks turn into blurred shapes and lines.
The streetlights blink. They remind me of a pattern—my father’s dying breaths. I should kill this habit of getting intoxicated whenever things don’t go my way, but it’s painful when I’m not hurting. I need a distraction, a reason to forget this place. My life.