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On A Warm Night photo

The world will end on a warm night. Muggy, buzzing dark in Chicago. Or in the deepest breathing forest in Honduras. In both places we will wipe sweat from our arms. Feel sweat down our legs and think nothing. We will hallucinate blinking radio towers and stumble towards the red round lights. Blinking. And then we will stop running. Panting in the crumbly black field or at the coast, the deserted hazed coast, the ocean grown newly terrifying. I will try and remember names but they will elude me. Instead: the quarter slots on the washing machine, the slam and chug with the heel of my hand, the care with which I placed my jeans and gray undershirts, inside out. The world will end on a warm night.

image: Tara Wray