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Jeff Winke

Some How

At the end of the long, empty dark hallway is an EXIT sign. Its flickering intermittent red glow adds weariness to the walk. If I can get there, I’ll be out of here. The walls have a brittle texture from the bubbling and flaky old paint, which I feel as I grope along to assure myself that the hallway won’t opened up into something cavernous. The floor feels gritty and grimy. A stench of humid loneliness smothers the air. Step by step I’m getting closer to the exit. I’ve got to get out of here. A raspy whisper of a voice, with more than a hint of menace in its tone, says – “There is no door at the end.”

            long day at work
            a thought congeals
            into a bad memory