That was supposed to mean something, right? When I pulled on those doors and they swung open, unlocked and unsecure? I took it as a sign anyway. Well, maybe I didn't. The old man inside of me seized the opportunity the moment I left to whisper into my ear. Check the doors! Check the doors! I checked the doors; they opened. You were right, you smug, awful thing.
It comes and goes, but it never really goes. It flares up inside of me and throbs like a dull headache. When I bury my face in that brown fur, the roar of the ocean pauses in my ears, but the second I rise and begin to count his gray hairs, the sea illuminates in a flared fog. I killed a dragon but it came back. I take long showers and imagine false victories, false outbursts and triumphs that I know deep inside to be impossible. When I was younger, I used to whack the top of the TV to stop all the static. Please, someone, anyone -- take notes!