squats raze sometimes the floor speaks to me. i run through an old routine, clenching and unclenching this bushed body like a feathered fist, and i strain to hear what the boards beneath my feet have to say. last_night they spammed me with the same three_words thirty times. clear as anything. "hit the road. hit the road. hit the road." that's my own home telling me the unvarnished truth: i'm no longer welcome in a world i've fought for so_long to feel my way into. i just don't know where else to go. i just don't know. 260504 what's it to you? who go blather from