Seventy seven miles.

Two cups of coffees and seven cigarettes later, the words started coming. I would have scrambled for anything with a keyboard, heck, pen and paper would have sufficed, but neither was within reach.

Six weeks of territorial beefing, it doesn’t get rarer than this. I’m cold on the inside, and on the outside.

It is a vicious cycle this life. I would seek shelter just long enough for the shivers to go away and then somehow muster enough courage to resume my journey, only to walk just a few steps before I think to myself, ‘ fuck me. This isn’t happening.‘ and come running back to the shelter that once protected me from the harsh, unforgiving rain.

It gets colder with each attempt, but what is a man to do? It is times like these that academics and rational thinking fail me. Opportunity cost doesn’t not exist, not in a situation such as this. I suffer if I stay, and I suffer if I go. I feel the breeze draining the life out of me, one minute at a time as I stare helpless at the unrelenting storm.

Had I left just a little earlier, just endured that bit of pain, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here, but fuck me, this, this is happening.

Life reminds me that the joke’s on me, clearly, as I make the decision, once and for all, to make my way back home, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how cold it gets, no matter how the dreaded pain cuts at my skin, each stinging drop of rain whispering in my ears, ‘go back, you’re pathetic.’. Oh,but it is cold, it really is.

The road was long and the conditions barely bearable, but I made it. I collapse in the slush of cotton wrapped in fabric that is my bed and wrap myself in polyester comfort. I have once again outdone myself. My resilience has surprised me, or perhaps it is but simple desperation; of a man with so strong a longing for home that he decides to go home, despite the pain.

Clearly the pain wasn’t just a one time affair. It was here to stay and stay it did. I shudder under the warmness of my dry, warm blanket. My legs feel ice cold and my fingers feel like they could (and perhaps would) fall off at any moment.

Confession time. I had considered pissing myself, on the way home, wondering if it would warm my thighs just enough for me to stop shivering, if only just for a little while. It was raining, no one would have taken notice.

I didn’t. Still holding on to societal norms, apparently. Maybe the storm has not yet taken from me these things that bind me together, a perfect excuse, but I am only human.

A warm, human touch would have been nice. Would be nice.

The claws of slumber find their way to my head easily as I succumb to rest well deserved but ridiculously hard earned. Still, I’ll take what I can get.

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