And I keep breathing.
Rule three:
I carry a gray backpack. Inside: three water filters, a brick of compressed calories, a knife, a laminated map (useless now, but it belonged to my father), and a hand-crank radio that hasn’t made a sound in two years. The radio is hope. Hope is heavy. I carry it anyway. survive torrentz
Until then, I listen to the wind. I watch the bruise-colored sky. And I keep breathing
The first drops of rain begin to fall. They’re warm. Too warm. a brick of compressed calories
Rule four, the one I made up myself: