girl with crismon nails has jesus round her neck

"meaaaaaaa-ghannnnnnnn....."

shifting my position for the seventh time in less than three minutes, i attempt to focus on the page in front of me. it's small, there's not that much on it. it should be easy to read.

"meaaaaaaaaa-ggggg-haaaaaaaaannnn."

i absently scratch my left calf, distracted by the way it feels to have next to no finger nails running up my leg. i think that i'm reacting to the detergent i used while i was at home last weekend.

"meaghan!"

i backtrack on the page i was reading. footnote twenty three tells me who solon was. i wonder if that's a plausible name as i gaze out the window, watching the last of the leaves blow past my window. they're a dirty yellow clour, but seem insanely bright against the grey backdrop that consists of an overcast sky and angry intense clouds scuttling on the edge of an approaching front.

"meaghan. now."

i sigh, and put the book down, and let the vox take over. what does it matter anyways?

i don't understand a damned thing.