The Fix heart.

It was some time ago. It happened repeatedly or maybe just once.  It lasted a hundred sand-timer turns or maybe a single wink. I don't quite remember.

We were trapped amongst commuting shadows in a carriage that was trapped amongst other connected carriages on a train trapped amongst other crossing lines. And then this panic landed, remember? We hit the doors, you broke the windows with your fists, kicked the shadows in the balls and worked our way to the exit with the help of a harp player.

When we reached to the top, the air was morphine.

It took me ages to realise that down there in the darkness, I could barely see the reflection of myself in your teeth or the eyes soaking me up. It was rather uncomforting.

And now that I look back with a mind clear as June, I remember, how you were not even there. You were air. A perfect fix without a name of wide circulation.