We will witness once again the events outside the window. the pale sky, the damp ground, and the temperature of the cupboard spreading to the terrace but every little child still thinks that the police are good at pretending and the lung-damaging pollution is the morning fog that saves Jakarta.
The pillow leaves an odd warmth. the previous season never built a nest in bed. in a news breakdown: the rain shaman's prediction is just a hoax. the cold printing machines are in a coma. composing utopian dreams feels more reasonable—because going to work is a routine that we want to end.
We surrender, now we are surrounded, becoming the last fighter who flees under the blanket.