MIRA

After watching Nora have breakfast, I wheel my squeaky old bike into the road.

The air was cool, sharp with dew. My lungs ached, but in a way that felt alive

The chain complained as usual; the tires were already tired. All saggy and worn out, but it’s all I have for now, and it carries me.

To the fields. To town for groceries, to Hank's. Anywhere.

As I chain up the bike to the wooden fence behind the stable, I feel that war inside me. Again. Same as every day.

Dread. Loathe. ...