9 pm, Wednesday

The two clocks on the wall tick with perfectly timed intervals, mimicking my heartbeat. The taste of onion, salt, and oil fills my mouth, and the flavor intensity increases with each crunch. My attention becomes so focused on my sense of taste that the ticking of the clock becomes a sound of the past, invisible to my ears. But, the excitement in my mouth is not enough to make my brain forget about my aching back. I should go lie down on the squishy, yet firm, couch. I collapse on the makeshift bed where Mary slep the night before, and gaze around the living room at my wet clothes, haphazardly thrown about in an attempt to air-dry. My back still hurts but my feet are unusually warm, an uncommon and pleasant feeling. The mechanical whir of the air-conditioning brings on a strong desire to sleep. My bones are heavy. This is peace.