envisioning myself as a stark character in a poorly produced indie movie. the lighting seems as if I'm under perpetual florescent lights. seventy-five minutes at the gym. soundless, just the thumping of my feet under the tired treadmill. my water bottle shakes violently in the cup holder, ricocheting between the sides. the muffled sound of gangster rap. a slow, deliberate walk to the car. silent, warm tears mingling with the hot summer evening air. the lot is nearly empty. the tears continue to stream for a few minutes until I regain composure. I play drying of the lawns and when the last note plays I call a friend. his voice drifts in through my ears and floats right out, unable to penetrate through my walls of emotions. he talks animatedly about a new, emotionally unavailable romantic interest. I nod frequently and realize belatedly that he can't see it. he remembers to ask how I am as I pull into my driveway, and I mumble a hasty never been better and melt away into the soft leather seats for the night.