POSER
I wake up from a nightmare and reach over for my phone. My last act before sleep was switching my display to grayscale. My reels have unintentionally become demonic, with an estimated forty percent of them focusing on European racial violence. My thinking was, if I drain the color out, they’ll become lifeless and dead, unworthy of my attention.
It is six a.m.
I’ve woken up at sunrise (or close to it) for almost a week now, to recalibrate my circadian rhythm, which, safe to say, is fucked.
I have one notification: a message from what I hope will be my date today.