||[May. 24th, 2006|10:33 pm]
Would You Like a Rust Sandwich?
Liz is running out of cigarettes. It's far from her biggest problem at the moment, but it's the only one she's focusing on. The human mind is not flexible enough to take in endless amounts of trauma without exploding into shiny bits of grey matter confetti.
She spends a lot of time stretched out in the little bedroom, imagining that in some other time and place, Henry slept there once. It's possible she's slept. She isn't sure. There might have been dreams, but she's trying not to think about that.
There's no way to tell how long she's been here; the light never changes.
At the moment she's trying to decide if she wants to try breaking a window again or read the car magazine.
...why the hell is there a car magazine?