Blake Krist

3:30

Sixteen going into seventeen on rails. That’s the number of years you’ve found yourself trapped here. And it would be the seventeenth year being here in three days. You would call it home, but it feels almost like a constantly changing prison with a new backyard to clean and replant the food every year. You’ve drawn the passage of time akin to rails since then. It almost feels ritualistic, at this point. As you head downstairs though, the feeling of having done something for a collective whole dissipates as quickly as the people did. You recall memories of the past as you go down to feed your wife.