My train leaves at 2 am. I took a nap so I wouldn’t fall asleep in the cab but instead I tossed and turned thinking about this wretched city and I how I was excited to leave it. The sheets suffocated me- begging me to stay but don’t they know I can’t? My bag is packed in the corner. Somewhere a dog barks. It sounds trapped and frustrated. I get that. Sometimes I wish I was an explorer. Like the guy on this hotel mug. I should probably clean the place up. I usually do. But this morning I can’t be bothered. The water from the tap is cold. It feels good against my skin. I may feel like the battered side of a penny but at least this water is cool, at least this water has life. I stare at my reflection. Red eyes deadened by running stare back at me. I see the way girls stare at me in bars. Full of hate and jealously. Sometimes I want to glare back and tell them that their lives are so much better than mine. But I always remind myself that these girls aspire to marriage. I aspire to something a bit grander.
I pull on my traveling dress and hat. Cotton brushes against my legs as I pick up my suitcase. With one more glance around the room, I close the door. Good riddance.
Victoire Absinthe isn’t much of a morning person. She isn’t one for talking most of the time, but especially not at 3 am. This sound clip follows Victoire through her early morning hours before she takes her train to a new city, and a new life. To be frank, she’s forgotten where her ticket says she’s going. She’s exhausted but restless. Freedom nips at her heels like an angry dog, pushing her. But is this freedom? Sometimes she refuses to ask herself the real questions on her quest for something better.
What’s the story morning glory?: 2
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