It's a perfect fall day. Crisp and cool. Long sleeves and a corduroy jacket. Maybe I should have brought gloves with me. It's okay. I'll dry my hands out early this year. They already feel rough to the touch. It's the scales, I guess. The leaves are falling but the grass is still green and growing. It smells a little like burning but I can't quite place where it's coming from. Just a faint smell in the distance. I doubt anything is burning in the city, especially leaves. I'm sure that's a hazard.

It's been a mindless day. I slept through my alarm, or it didn't go off. I'm not exactly sure, but my body wasn't too happy to get up. No, no, no, it heaved as I looked at my cell phone to verify if I had any time left to lay in bed with my darling orange cat.

I left my apartment with half of my shirt untucked and my hair tangled. It didn't matter. I'm not here to impress anyone of any caliber, and definitely not anyone on the CTA. As I walked out of the underground Chicago red stop, I thought that I should leave. Where to go? That's a good question. What exactly would I accomplish by up and leaving? Some days I think that's all I've got left for options: just leave, get out, go and assume a new identity. Get away from everyone who's boxed you into that box that's so painfully sized wrong. Maybe I could brainwash myself and it'd all be okay. Just stop this, all this.

It's a perfect fall day.