this morning #897.

this morning, if i could’ve fixed things, i would’ve fixed things. the fix was in though & there was no going back. in fact, i was finally fixing to flee, become one of those tragic tropes, a soul searching for a fresh start in a foreign state. some remote location under a fake name. something like “ezra.” BETTER than ezra. new hairdo. brilliant backstory. nothing all that flashy. plaid fashion to blend in. nothing to pack. nothing to hold me back. nothing to tie me to here. in less than twenty-four hours, i’d have a whole new future. the more i thought of it, the more i realized it was going to be pretty sweet. a sideways door knock shocked me to attention. the whole damn plan was put into question.