Drugs

Like a video-game, some kind of car racing ballet of sounds and lights.
Crawling towards the next checkpoint while the timer runs down.
Drugs.
The next checkpoint is two weeks from tomorrow morning.
Unless of-course, the timer runs out before then, the situation being of-course, that no-one knows how much time is on the clock.
It’s guesses and estimates and hopes and possibilities.
In the mean-time, paranoia is keeping me alive just fine.