today i became part of the traffic of humans, and all the sidewalks looked the same. 

an elderly man looked shocked to see me on the bus, and then i felt disconnected from history. 

today, because it was cloudy and i felt disconnected, which prompted me to walk further in the direction of disconnect, i swallowed a point two-five xanax that i had saved in a film canister, after it was given to me by a close friend of mine. 

today i thought the clouds were moving very fast, so i moved very slow to look at them for longer. 

there was a tree or one and a half of a tree blocking my vision. 

today i became part of somebody else’s morning—tasks like showering and leaving the apartment ran for longer than they usually did. my presence did not make these activities any more vibrant than they already are.