Before the Wire Went Dead
My twenties were a hallway with no exits.
Wrong doors. Wrong men. Wrong hours. I kept walking like the floor owed me nothing.
If you slipped out quietly, good.
Some rooms rot.
Some rooms bite whoever stays too long.
New York rewired me on blackout nights and empty platforms.
Something snapped and never came back.
Some nights the glitch arrives before I do.
Some nights it’s the only real thing.
Some nights I miss the girl from before the wire went dead.
