Circles, circles, goosebumps, pressure.

There was a kindness to the clinking sound as I pushed the coins into the slot.

The physio keeps her eyes closed. Mine are open, visually replaying the juggling game I entertained on the fast lane: two hands alternating their turn to hold in their appropriate timing either the gear lever, the coffee cup, the wheel, the lighter – or, of course, the cigarette.

For once, it’s nice.
It is nice paying parking tickets, it feels responsible, and it feels good in the same way that all these months in which I’d paid with my sweat and tears – to somehow convey this kindness I’m able of sharing – are now preventing bigger, unpleasant costs.

Costs unrecoverable.

Circles, goosebumps, tension, pressure.

The journey here was short, but had a lasting effect. Just like your eyes do, when they speak violent volumes in a blink.

This kindness taught me to acknowledge the memories that are embedded in my muscle tissue, and why certain movements will forever ache from now onwards. May this same kindness teach me the motions indispensable for surviving what is soon to come.

Last night I made a decision, and it just so happens that just like with this particular blue parking meter,

life does not give you returns.