Escape - (just riffing off from Jinx)

They will claim it was tears, they will claim you cried, biting down on the plastic as you lay in the back of the truck - but I will know it was the busted rear axle and your skeleton was always the most sensitive part of you.

Why would you want to cry? What could be left from the shards of your old life that you would keep, that you would clutch at weeping? Photos of some ephemeral connections - a time when your personality was in demand... before it was ONLY your personality that was in demand.

I cannot imagine... it would be, what? A biscuit box full of Kodak shards, splinters - blunted, oranged with age? Plucking them out with a liver-spotted hand. "Oh that was my house! There - yes it was small, but a fine home for many years." Dear God, but you would never come to that. 

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