33

Above the rain continues to fall upon us. Olivia’s face is muggy with the wet air. Empty the great vault, empty. Full to the brim it falls on the world, dripping its reeking contents through the damp air and into our lungs, with every second they swell and gurgle as they drown under the shit of disconnection. I wipe my mouth and take another long drag of a wet cigarette before passing it back to Olivia. The smoke holds its shape in the damp air, waiting to be ordered away.