10.28

I'm hunched over in the dark, pulling grass up from between my toes. The air feels wet on my back, in my lungs, on the grass. The distant sound of crickets rasps a quiet tick tock, driving the night forward and back, a pendulum on a grandfather clock. My muscles slowly freeze into place all hunched and shivering. I can't feel my hands. By the time I fall asleep with my head on my knees and my pants dew-soaked, the morning is maybe only a moment away.