Rooting for the Apocalypse — Chapter 3: Shut the fuck up, Lacy
I watch over them. My room juts like a balcony. I am a dictator, addressing a disinterested crowd. I am a silhouette. I open the blinds. They don’t notice. I turn on the lights, revealed. They don’t notice. I think I about yelling at them. Shut the fuck, seems like a pretty reasonable argument. It’s four a.m. I just think it really loud—shut the fuck up. They don’t.
A silverfish crawls across the wall. I monitor his progress.