The Spin Theory

The anticipation might kill me. I can’t sleep – I can hardly breathe. Three years. Three stupid, fucking years. Every ounce of this city bleeds the memories I’ve projected on it. Green, circular, cement filigree; geometric, cold, technological hearts; my fat, ridiculous cat. It’s you. All of it. And why? It should have been me all along.

How many times have I dreamt this moment?

…am I just going to wake up again?