I don’t want to talk about them. They’re fighting now. I thought I was in Croatoa for a moment until this. It’s the same every night. I get a little peace and quiet and think about Croatoa and then it sounds like someone is getting beaten to death. A car screeches off someone runs back outside a little more shouting and then mumbles. I don’t talk to the brute. He’s harmless to me but not to the world.
The storm happened a while ago. A tree fell on my building. We share a basement. Sometimes I catch him in the basement with someone I’ve never seen. After that happened he seems louder than ever.
The Croatan National Forest is only a couple hundred miles away from me. I’m so close to Croatoa but it’s a million miles away in my head.