Ice Mornings

“what are you doing?” she asked. the blackout
mist had already claimed her name.

“long story,” I replied with a grumble while
shaking the volatile plastic bottle of water near the open
door of my flat.

I unscrewed the cap gently and leaned back, lest
a drop of sweat connected with the hissing vapor
before the dawn breeze could sweep it away.

“how worried should I be?” she insisted, leaning against
the doorframe of the kitchen door. naked and
effervescent, she almost caused me to lose my focus.
“if you hear sirens, jump out of the window.”

“fucking great,” she said with a glower. “anything else
I ought to know?”
“depends. how long are you planning to stay?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged her slim shoulders.
“well, then, probably, you don’t need to know anything else.”

she walked back into the living room and my bed
squeaked when she laid back down. finally,
some alone time. me and my suicidal way of
making money.

after some time, I had five grams of
glass. I put the shimmering piece
of death on the counter and returned to
bed. it was six in the
morning and I had nothing better to
do.

I was awoken at around ten when she crawled
over me and out of bed to get dressed and leave.
a short kiss goodbye was our
final interaction.
she never called the cops despite seeing the
piece of glass on the kitchen counter.

perhaps, I should have told her a few more
things or, at least, asked for her number.