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. . .

. . .I wipe the last of the vomit-drool from my face - we lock eyes. The loans and I just stare. Hours, maybe even years pass and I can not break the dark, cold, soul-molesting stare of the loans. I feel weak. I feel lost. How can I win this battle?

The loans' powerful, menacing stare makes it impossible for me to create a inner-monologue. It is evading my thoughts, stealing my memories. I. Can. Not. Think.

Black.

This entry was posted by Geoff, on Thursday, June 29, 2006. You can leave your response.

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