It’s 4a, pouring rain, and Killian needs to go out to piss. Just my luck. I would rather her piss all over the rug then go stand in the rain to watch her “do her thing.” Yet, maybe the rain will wash away this sickness that has seemed to become a way of life.

I wonder who else is up at 4a? My side of the ghetto is pretty quiet. The street sweeper drove by an hour ago. At least Columbia cares to keep the streets clean in the 29203. Except for the occasional roll of thunder and the passing of a fire truck, all is quiet, that is except for my mind.

Thoughts flood my mind like the downpour that’s the rain. Yesterday’s news. Today’s worries. Tomorrow’s turmoil. Tonight even the Ambien can’t make me sleep.


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