It’s been a strange and bitter week. she flicks her eyes up to his and holds them. “would you like to spend the night at my place?” she knows exactly what she asks and how much this means. her voice denies it, but his blood knows. I knew I was in serious trouble when an hour into my second pyro tech class, I was morbidly hallucinating. I put my hand to my head and took it away covered in brain-flesh and writhing maggots. The classroom seemed threatening. After the first break, I sat myself down in a softer chair, one against the wall. In the darkness, I fell asleep very briefly only to jerk awake from a dream of midget prostitutes stabbing me with syringes made of sharp enamel teeth with burned edges. I wish I was kidding, I wish that was overstatement. her hand vibrates with light, every molecule a different frequency. It’s painful, but not in any quantifiable way. she only knows that if she touches anything, it will dissolve into sound. in her mind, she finds her husband. I have a party planned this Saturday which I think is going to fail miserably. I’m being blown off by my friends for a fetish night. A fetish night that I would be on the guest list for if I hadn’t already had a party foisted upon me. The depression just grows, my lovelies. If I had known that there would be friends there Saturday, I would have decided upon that. Some certified relief from the nasties that populate such places. One day I will get used to being forgotten. Perhaps I’ll even manage to go an entire week without being stood up. blue eyes, blue eyes, he’s singing to himself, remembering what she looked like when he shuddered on top of her. what a night, he thinks, what a bloody good night. he turns, closing the handle of the door. next time I might even pay her, he thinks. I picked up my paycheques earlier today and brought them to the bank. The way my account is set up, I need to make my transaction with a teller rather than the machine if I am to pay my rent and as well get groceries. The line-up was entirely made up of men, and the one fourth down in line picked me out immediately as someone he approved of. Long silver hair and a gore-tex jacket. The older Used To Be A Hippie, still kind, still hitting on younger women who don’t mind all that much. He talked to me and I gave him candy from my pocket. “Trick or treat”. Our discussion eventually included another man, a taller fellow, with wire thin frames and shaved down hair. We talked about how today is the 75th anniversary of the Stock Market Crash, space-flight advances, and physics. Solar Flares wiping the magnetic memory of everything on Earth. The two of them waited for me afterward, standing by the door. I watched out of the corner of my eye as they made their introductions. Together they asked me out for coffee. Today I said no.