Sometimes the day won't let you up. Your back is broken before the hammer falls. You're two strikes down, even in a rainout. Age leaves you either too young or too old. You try to talk, to tell, to speak into someone's ear, only to find out their ear is in a different language. You wish for candle wax and comfort, and you get a house aflame. Mondays do this.

Tuesdays do this.
Wednesdays. Thursdays.

Fridays.

Wake up tomorrow, it doesn't matter the day. The hammer's probably on the way down, even now.

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