Death Is Inevitable

The sky is grey with electric charge. The pure static joy of the clouds. The hangover from the weekend past lingers like soot. The long journey home is mixed with dread and relief. The sweet vodka burn of the longest bender yet, detachment is blanketing. I ride the train for hours at a time, the strangest feeling. " Next station, Karrakatta. " I want to get off here, but I can't. I ride to Perth. I want to get on the Clarkson train, but I can't. I walk from the station and wonder around, buy a drink or two. But even in company I feel alone with my thoughts.