En Route to the Waystation
I'm staring at Watson. My mind slips back into gear. Comes back online. We are crossing the tiny foot bridge to hole three.
"Man, I don't know. It's like the facade has lifted. I woke up the day after Thanksgiving with zero desire to fake my way through another day. I love the routine, I hate the routine. I'm fucking sick of my world. And the Cloud is taunting me. Being mean."
I sigh. "Not it."
Watson grumbles while I continue. "For example, Brooke came into work wearing the perfume that reminds me of my ex-wife. And naturally, she's got to linger around me because I had to tell her how good she smelled once. Just shit going wrong. Fuck. Just thinking about it pisses me off."
"Hey, fuck it, then," he says. "We're out here to forget all that shit."
"I know, but fuck! I mean, this is not where I thought I would be even if I never had a clue about where I was going to end up."