I woke up full, not satisfied, just full. The coffee was fine, which somehow felt like a letdown. Note, the-fications waited politely, like guests who had stayed and used us for too long. and learned my schedule, lighly. I stood in the kitchen, light too bright for a Tuesday, thinking about nothing specific, thinking about it very thoroughly. There was a song playing, algorithmically correct. already halfway familiar, already leaving my intellect. I wore the wrong jacket, for the exact temperature outside. not cold, not warm, just enough to notice. At the crosswalk, someone adjusted their headphones, as if preparing for meaning. I checked the news. closed it, opened it again, out of habit, not hope. My phone buzzed, to remind me, of something I had chosen to forget. Lunch was expensive. and forgettable, served on wood, as if that added depth. I nodded at art, that asked me not to rush, while I rushed anyway. Every discomfort arrived softly, apologetic, well designed. Nothing hurt, which felt strangely demanding. I thought about changing something, not my life, just the interface, the man, who's always in the wayy. By evening, the day hadn’t happened, it had passed through. I lay down, still carrying it, like a bag that was never heavy, just always in the way. Always in rhe wayyy..
