I tell her the world looks like Siberia, the snow falls and falls. Silence accompanied by crackling static on the other end, she mumbles some things and I barely hear or understand what is being said - perhaps because I’m drunk. A pleasant conversation, it seems, I might have had with myself - or nobody at all; imaginary friends in imaginary places.
And the snow falls.
A friend of mine told me this weekend he wants to kill himself.
Happy Holidays.
