The room is getting small, but I don’t care.  My eyes are wider, I think to myself as the walls move ever closer.  The bottle seems empty although the screw top is securely fastened and the liquor is level with the neck.  I’m nervous.

Soon this has got to be over but it’s only been six days.  Six days of being told no by people who don’t know.  Six days of toilet paper and invisible demons, zombies walking the streets afraid of the very brains they eat.  Six days of Mitch and the boys blurting out shit-stained sentences about nothing that no one cares about.

It doesn’t help that I don’t care.  It doesn’t help that my mind is a blur with thoughts of the apocalypse.  The end of the world is a welcome change from this tedium.  I’ll need to remember my machete, just in case.

I’ll go for a bike ride.  It’s safe in my helmet.

Beer is running low, but there’s three pounds of coffee in the freezer.  I’ll have to make run.  I’ll dig a grave for my sanity on the way out.  Oh, never mind, there isn’t time.