Breakfast

Passed out beside the train tracks. Occasionally, I will look up at all the faces. They seem asleep, not awake. And this sleepy expression, it’s more like catatonia. An apathy so deep that there’s an odd beauty to it. It’s basic. Not forced.
I dig my fingers into the sweating, cold mud. I feel some bendable, sharp objects. Fingernails. I had to laugh.
I found a selection of coffee, tea, soft drinks and hot and cold snacks. The rats had been at them. Now they assemble somewhere I can’t see and bide their time. It is obvious now…I’m breakfast.

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