The air. The air. It’s there. In the air. A state of mind. Can change in a day. So that I can see clearly. What I don’t see. As clearly as possible. Now that I’ve done that. I want to tell you. That I do not hate darkness. That it is part of me. That there are phantoms. In my mirrors. That follow me. At night. The states. You know who they are. They’re there. Waiting for me at the end of the street. Holding up their versions. Of themselves, tattooed and anonymous. And here I am tattooed and anonymous. In nobody training. Lugging them. Out of the burned city. In these kinds of houses. Always surrounded by signs.