Lightning fight in the brain. Arriving here I articulate the words “I’m nothing special” even though certain individuals here will look at me with just that shine, an element of glow that knows itself, knows how it communicates in silent salts of sympathy. Dissolving treadmills vanish behind me, leaving the others mno means by which to follow. I’m going nowhere, but I gamely welcome the opportunity to waste another day, another year, another opera of recyclable romance. She wanted to curse me for using too much water. It would have involved embarrassing conversations. We opted for sallow congeniality. She could have provided a fork, a utensil, a toothpick, or a tooth, even. She gave little, all of it through a braggard’s squalid frown. Earlier, on a particularly jagged subway ride, she stomped her heel on my foot, crying out in exculpatory pain to drown out my own expression of irritation and physical hurt. The encounter never digested. I feel it now in my tubes and tunnels, nervously looking for escape. Who says “Good morning” to a stranger without expecting to get shot?