Plastic straws. I’m sitting down at lunch and we order tea. They bring out the tea and glasses of water and the straws and without thinking I grab one, press it into the table, take out the straw and put it in my cup. Now I’m just looking at my glass of water. Jesus fuck. I’m looking at my glass of water, the straw and the paper wrapper. How many paper wrappers, how many fucking straws? Where do they go? Everything I’ve ever touched, anything that has ever existing, persists. It continues to be of this world. I can throw it all away, everything in my life and start over, leave every one. It is all still here. It’s terrifying, I’m terrifying. I’m terrified. Jesus, fuck, Jesus Christ is still of this world… Hitler is in the air, the air, the molecules, the dinosaurs. Fossil fuels. I loved him. I… I’m staring at the straw and I thinking it’s all still here. The plastic, the chemicals, it breaks down into oil and grime and smaller plastic. It poisons the air but it's still here. It’s still here. I love him. I am screaming and I know that my screams are finite, my sapience, my sanity. I am here and so is everything else, and then I am not here. He’s not here, but we’re in the air.

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