As Is

by Luke Otley

I fumble for the USB jack, and for the keys. Everything is washed in cool light. Immediately my mug is there, a gift to me and made from a material I don’t know but love dearly. It has a solidity that comforts me. I get the jack in, my phone is hot, the air is still and tight with the pressure of signals I don’t understand. I reach for the door handle and get it, the night is cool, there is a breeze. Sounds of cars rise and climax and recline in front of me. I feel dirt and stones under my bare feet. I walk around the back of my car to a tree, the leaves are pointing to the ground, they’re darker than the sky. The bark is twisted and flaking as if in a period of transition. My piss lightly sprays my toes, for some reason this doesn’t bother me. My head goes heavy on my neck and I look at the sky, though the stars barely shine. The headlights of the roaming cars pull past incessantly. One car approaches on my road. It passes, I’m illuminated in the glare, brake lights, slows, pulls around. Inside the window is black. ‘Hey’ a man’s voice. ‘You were here this morning, you’re living in you’re car aren’t you?’ he says. ‘No’ I lie. ‘I was at work this morning’. ‘Do you want a beer?’ the voice asks, and I see two beers that look cold split V-like in his fingers. ‘Ah, nah, I got to drive off in a bit’ I lie. ‘Oh’ he pauses. ‘You want a cigarette?’ ‘Nah, I don’t smoke’ I lie. ‘Ahh right fair enough’ he seems reluctant. ‘Have a good night’. ‘You too’ I say, and I watch his lights scoop out the dark chocolate road, smaller, smaller.