THE LIBRARY

The noise of the dog retching wakes me from my restless dream. By the time I’ve decided whether I feel relieved or disappointed, the day already feels ruined — so I make a crestfallen brew, stare out at the muddy ocean below, and try to remember why staying inside has suddenly become unacceptable.

Those people feel like ghosts now. I hope some fragment of them is still there in that arcade — the machine humming, the claw dropping, the small improbable win looping forever. A moment suspended in fluorescent light, before grief, before knowing what it would cost to love someone that way.

We all keep staring at the place where our lives are about to come to an end. I think about what he would do if he were here. What he would say. I stare at Samantha and she she stares back, before beginning to slowly shake her head.

I booked a house on the highest point in the bay, a bedroom with writing desk and an ocean view, a veranda to smoke copious amounts of weed on (that I definitely wouldn't be mentioning to the owner), and a geographical distance big enough to warrant a commitment to the cause. But instead of feeling relief, I realised there was one problem - me. I would be there. Alone. Unsupervised.